Sleepwalking Hunter 2: The Aftermath
by Meg7100
Summary: The sequel to "Sleepwalking Hunter!" A temporary stay led to a permanent placement. A nightmare led to the spilling of a lifetime of secrets; secrets that would take a lifetime to unravel and a lifetime to repair the damage of the fragile state Shawn was left in. Someone must be punished, but who will truly pay at the end of the day?
1. Chapter 1

**Previously on Sleepwalking Hunter…**

"Where do you think you're going, buddy?"

"I'm an idiot. He told me. I'm his son!"

"No, Shawn! Wake up. You're dreaming, buddy."

He turned around, finally, his face blotchy and his eyes swollen and red. "What do you wanna talk about?" Shawn asked to Jonathon's annoyance.

"Where'd the blood come from?" He moved Shawn's hands again just to have them rise back there to the centre of his head. "Buddy, c'mon. Just..." Realization struck Jonathon like a bolt of lightning. He budged the boy's hands away once more, this time Jonathon's own hands gliding through Shawn's thick brown hair. He pushed handfuls apart until he found what he was looking for. A scab, the size of a finger, claimed the boy's scalp just a centimeter away from his part. "Ah, kid."

"Because I love you, Shawn."

"He saw me leave. He was drunk, though, he didn't know what he was doing! I just shouldn't have left."

Shawn stood up abruptly, stepping close to the older man, glancing up at him threateningly. His jaw was set, but his eyes were blank, as he brushed his hand across his forehead and lifted his bangs to reveal yet another ugly cut along the length of his temple.

"My dad tells me he cares about me too, Jon! You don't know him like I do. He's not bad all the time!"

"Well, hi there, Teach. Wasn't expectin' to get you on that end."

Shawn held eye contact with Jonathon, unblinkingly staring at him like he was trying to understand him too. He whispered: "He's my dad, Jon."

"Shawny? Shawn, I gotta tell you something, boy."

Jonathon sighed. "Your dad sent me adoption papers."

"How could you do this to me?" He was fighting him with all he had, punching his chest and pushing him, but to no prevail. "I hate you!"

"Okay." Nicky picked up a pen. "So your pops knocks you around?"

"My dad didn't rape me!" He yelled at him, making a b-line for the door and slamming it as hard as he could behind him.

"Just bring him home." He sighed, walking out into the hallway and disappearing.

"Someone's abusing this kid. Whether it's Hunter or Turner or both, I'm gonna figure this out. But I'm telling you right now, buddy, something doesn't smell right."

"You know what makes you such a terrible teacher?"

"He hit me." Jonathon repeated for probably the 12th time to an impatient Mr. Feeny.

Nicky grabbed Jonathon by the throat and swung him up against the wall, pinning him. "What are you doing to him, you sick fuck?!"

"He just keeps on yelling! It's like he doesn't see me. Is he sick?" Chris asked, turning to look at Jonathon.

"Don't be mad at 'em, Hunter. They told me they've got guys out looking for your dad."

"Chet Hunter, you are under arrest for the abuse of Shawn Hunter…"

"Jon, am I gonna be okay?"

"Come on, baby, wake up!" He pushed his hair back, placing a cloth over the boy's damp forehead. "If I ever see your father again, I swear I'll rip his heart right out of his chest. You're just a boy."

Nicky ducked his head, instinctively, just narrowly dodging Shawn's fist. He forced him around again, forcefully bending him over the table, clasping his wrists in his right hand, his left pressing down on his neck. "Cuff him, Chris!"

"You've gotta be kidding me! He took my kid! He has Shawn, Alan!"

"There are worse things in life than beatings."

Nicky hesitated, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "No, Eddie Richmond has been arrested for sexual assault of a minor."

"Don't apologize to me, boy!" Chet found himself yelling. He held up his index finger and stabbed it at the air, roughly. "Shawn-y." He lowered his voice. "I don't want you anywhere near here. I don't want you to come back."

"I just wanna die." He admitted, his voice barely audible. "He raped me, Jon! Dad said he loved me, but why didn't he stop them? Why?"

* * *

"Ever since the day I was born, he despised me. He'd look at me and all he saw was himself. But I can't speak for him. All I can do is tell you the pain I felt each and every day, growing up as the kid that Chet Hunter was ashamed of. Anyone who knew Chet Hunter could tell you that that was really saying something. He was a drunk and he drove away anyone who ever cared about him, as if that were a weakness.

"I don't remember the first time he laid his hands on me. What I can say for sure is that I don't remember a time that he didn't. He'd beat me with anything he could get his hands on. Sometimes that wasn't on impulse. He'd purchase new…implements that he'd say would really leave a _mark_. He'd snap my fingers if I'd say something that he disliked; he'd break a rib if I'd _done_ something that he disliked. He would put out his cigarette, his cigar, his blunt on my flesh. He broke lamps and chairs over my head. I've broken both of my ankles, separated a ligament in my knee, fractured my hip, broken three ribs, my collar bone, and my cheekbone and the defendant is to blame for each of these injuries. The first time he locked me in a closet it was for five hours and I was three. When my mother found me, I was…cowering in the corner of the three foot by two foot linen closet, having defecated myself. I was just small enough that I could sit without craning my neck beneath the shelf. Sometimes I found myself…I'd be in there for days.

"Besides the physical pain that Chet Hunter caused me, I have been suffering with emotional and psychological trauma. And this is the pain that I still endure to this day. Until a few months ago, I had spent my entire life believing that I was to blame for the lifetime of abuse that I suffered through. But with the help of several psychiatrists and friends, over the course of several months, I have come to realize that I was an unfortunate victim of the defendant and have learned to accept my past as the past.

"When Chet Hunter told me that it was my fault and that I was worthless, I believed him because he was my _father_. I use the term 'father' loosely as I believe that a father is none of these things that I have just described to you. I believe that a father looks nothing like this man. I am speaking before you today to ask you, beg you, do whatever it takes to ensure that this man does not appeal to you as a likely candidate for release. As I aforementioned, Chet Hunter has tortured me in ways that I would not wish upon any of you here today, nor anyone else. Therefore, I stress my fear of the likelihood of the defendant turning violent on an innocent…another innocent.

"Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury…I fear for my life, as well as the lives of those whom I love. I can say with much confidence that the defendant is capable of committing further crimes. And so I beg of you, please, do _not_ let this monster free."

Shawn refolded his speech, the paper was lined with creases from countless times of refolding that it was simple to return it back to its original shape. He stepped back from the podium after receiving a nod from Elizabeth and retreated back into the congregation. His eyes averted from the man in the defendant's box, a difficult task due to his bright orange attire.

He moved swiftly out the doors and into the courthouse foyer, his posse falling into step behind him. "How did I do?" He asked, the cool air hitting him through the opened door, drawing on the fact that he was perspiring.

"You did excellent." Elizabeth assured him with a smile.

"Shawn, I'm really proud of you." Jonathon said, running his hand through his hair and letting it sit on the back of his neck.

"Thanks." Shawn pressed his lips together, the nausea he had been feeling since he had gotten out of bed that morning finally settling. "I'm glad I did it."

"I told you that you wouldn't regret it. His whole defense is a stretch but just in case, it really helps that the jury hears your point of view and the influence it had on you." She said, reaching for the shoulder of the boy beside her. "_Both_ of your victim impact statements made a huge impact on the prosecution of your father."

* * *

**One month prior…**

Shawn wasn't the coolest kid at John Adams High anymore. He wasn't cool, but he sure was popular. Everyone was always staring at him. Everyone was always offering him a shoulder to cry on. There weren't any tears left to cry and so in response to their pity, he fought.

He was supposed to be doing better. At least, that is what the mental health brochure his therapist gave him argued. There were five stages of grief, but no one had any advice for a guy who was going through all five at once.

"Cor, I swear to God if you ask me if I'm okay one more time, I will make your left eye match the blackness of your right."

A large grin spread across Cory's face. "You just fell off your skateboard and there is blood running down your leg but fine then! Suck it up, maggot!"

Shawn felt his face get hot. "Oh…sorry."

"Yeah, whatever." He rolled his eyes. "If you haven't noticed, I haven't mentioned anything since the night you almost blinded me, which was months ago!"

Shawn cracked a smile. "That was Tuesday."

"The month of Tuesday! Forever ago, man!"

"Hey, I said I was sorry." But without even glancing at Cory he knew that it didn't suffice. He owed him an explanation, however, unfortunately he didn't really have one. Even more unfortunate, the truth was his only option.

"Whatever…" Cory picked up his skateboard and began rolling a wheel between his fingers. "My dad already told me everything, anyway."

"WHAT?!"

"What? Did _you_ wanna tell me?"

Shawn shrugged.

"Exactly."

Shawn stood up and unfastened his helmet. "One question. You can ask me one question and then you have to drop this entirely."

Cory studied him for a second then spoke. "Why didn't you trust me enough to confide in me? I could've helped you and you know it."

He closed his eyes. Nothing he said would be suffice unless it was the truth. He hated the truth. He spent his lifetime not telling it and now it was all that came out of his mouth. Every thought, every feeling, every care he'd ever had, now had some sort of relevance. He liked being in his own head and staying out of everybody else's. "Because all I wanted in the world was to be with my dad."

"Is that still what you want?"

He turned his back on him. "All I want in the world is to be happy."

Cory didn't miss a beat. "Then it's a good thing you're with me." He smacked Shawn's helmet off of his head and made a break away for the house. As he rounded the corner, he could hear his parents arguing in the kitchen, through the open window.

"Amy, what else was I supposed to do? He was going to get out!"

"You don't know that! And I love Shawn just as much as you do, but we really can't afford the most prestigious P.I. in the state of Pennsylvania!"

"We have the money just sitting there, we can pay it back. This is worth it, Amy!

"You should have talked this over with Jonathon first…Oh, and with your wife!"

"I had to act fast! He will come after Shawn if we don't come up with some evidence to keep him in his cage."

"In his cage? Are you listening to yourself?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

A cupboard door slammed and he jolted, but he was too intrigued to move on.

"Well, you better talk to Shawn first, before you go digging up more skeletons in his closet. All I know, is he seemed a lot happier before everyone discovered his past."

His father scoffed. "Yeah, he _seemed_ happier."

He heard shuffling behind him and turned to find Shawn standing there, his helmet in hand, leaning against the far wall. His eyes were wide and sad looking as he shared a look with Cory, slowly allowing his head to hit the back wall, hopelessly.

* * *

GLAD YOU RETURNED FOR MORE SHAWN-TURNER ANGST! I'VE GOT LOADS OF IDEAS SO PLEASE STAY TUNED AND DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!

Note: Just in case you were confused, the first part was made up of scenes taken from the original "Sleepwalking Hunter" to be a little flashback to remind you of everything that took place. I imagined it to appear like the opening of a TV drama. Hope you caught that :)


	2. Chapter 2

"I need more!" Elizabeth exclaimed, tossing her notes on her desk in frustration.

"He's doing the best he can! Maybe you should do your job!" Nicky fired back at her, having just entered the room when she exploded at him.

"No, Nicholas. That would be your job! You give me the case with everything already investigated and then I bring it to court. That was my job description."

Nicky swung out a chair and landed in it, placing his elbows on her desk. "Well, someone should've taught you how to read between the lines. It's not a matter of investigating, it's about getting this kid to trust you. Every time we reach out to him, he gives us a little bit more."

"We don't have time for riddles! I had nothing at Eddie Richmond's bail hearing. Nothing! Do you have any idea how that made me look?"

"Whoa! I should've known this was all about you, El."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant and you know it. It makes me look like I don't have a case! We are so lucky that he couldn't afford bail, because I had nothing to keep him behind bars."

"What about Shawn's face when you told him his brother would probably be released?"

"Not arguable…but, yeah, it lit a fire under my ass."

Nicky smiled. "It's such a cute ass."

She ignored him. "The point is his accusations aren't enough. We need witnesses, other victims, DNA!"

"Well, we've got Daddy Dearest. Shawn said one time he saw his dad watching it happen. And apparently our friend, Eddie, had accomplices."

"Okay, and why are you still sitting here?" Elizabeth crossed her arms, her face appearing much more hopeful than before.

"Oh, I was just hoping you'd accompany me to dinner."

"Well, you dream big, now don't you?"

* * *

As he got off the elevator, Nicky could see that someone was sitting in his office. Bald-headed and suit-wearing from the looks of it. He sped off to the kitchen, grabbing Chris by the back of the neck and forcing him to take a look. "Who the hell is that?" He whispered to him.

"Who the hell is who?" Chris frowned, shoving Nicky away from him.

"There! In my—"

"Detective Adams?" A tall, broad shouldered man stood before him, head as shiny as a q-ball. "You're not avoiding me, are you?"

Nicky's stomach dropped. "Lieutenant Wheeler! No! Um… No, Sir. Can I help you with something?"

"You sure can. You see, I'd love to know why you're still working the Hunter case when I ordered you off of it! Are you trying to piss me off?"

Nicky glanced at Chris and back at Wheeler. "No, of course not, Sir! Um…" He could feel his coworkers' eyes burning into him, his face growing hot with embarrassment. "Maybe we should take this into my office, Sir?"

"As was the original plan, Detective." He watched him with a knowing look, Nicky's discomfort growing all the more.

In his office, Nicky closed the door behind him with shaking hands. He had never even met the new Lieutenant before, let alone warranted a formal visit and sit down with him. He knew that if this guy didn't can him, than his captain sure would.

"Have a seat, son." The Lieutenant said, waving his hand at his desk chair.

He felt sick, taking the invitation to sit down in his own office. "You're welcome to…"

"Shut up, Detective! The only words I want out of your mouth right now is an explanation of why you think that when I order you to do something that you can do whatever you damn well please!"

"Uh…S-sir. That's not the case. I…" He dropped his hands on his desk and sighed.

"What? What is it, then?" He felt like a little kid getting scolded by his principal.

"I can't let go of this case! This kid…" He took a breath. "This kid is so damaged and I feel responsible, like I have to fix it. And technically we're working a different case now. This time on his brother. Like his father beating the hell out of him wasn't enough, his brother also was molesting him. I disobeyed you and I'm sorry, but I need to make this right. I can't let go of this. I'm not letting go of this." He took a deep breath realizing he had said all of that in only one breath. "Sir." He added, after replaying his speech in his mind.

"You got attached to a case. You got attached to a victim. That's a crappy excuse, son. I should fire both you and your partner."

"Please, Sir…"

"How long have you been with Special Victims?"

"Four years, Sir."

"Four years. And how many victims, just like this kid, have you had pass across your desk?"

"Too…too many." He stuttered, his eyes beginning to burn.

"Maybe it's time to move on." He said, almost suggesting.

Nicky surveyed him, unsure where this was going. "No! I have to be here! Please! Sir, I promise this won't happen again!"

"You can't fix this. Your job is not to make the victim better and you won't. You get yourself a better vocabulary or I'll put in for you transfer. Do you understand me, son?"

Nicky almost jumped to his feet as he stood, all too eager to thank him. "Yes. Yes, Sir. Thank you!" He took his hand and shook it, feeling as though he'd just dodged a bullet, knowing that he probably had.

Once the Lieutenant had left, he sank back into his chair, the room shrinking back to size as he was no longer feeling like the smallest thing in it. He could look a serial killer in the eye and not lose his cool, but when it came to authority figures he was a blubbering mess. In that instant, he suddenly realized how Shawn was feeling. His lieutenant calling him "son" didn't make him feel warm and fuzzy inside, just as calling Shawn "pal" didn't make him trust him.

"Well, there's nothing smoking, so he must've left his corpse behind for burial." Chris' voice startled him, as he crept in the room followed by two other detectives.

"What?"

"Hey! He's alive!" Bryan, the blonde one exclaimed.

"Does he need CPR? Quick! Someone page Helga!" Ted chuckled.

"Shut up, guys!" Nicky growled, laying his head on his desk, feeling the cold against his still hot cheek.

"You should've seen your face, man!"

He wrapped his arms around his head, knowing they were kidding but unable to stop it from annoying him. When he finally raised his head, each one of them had their arms full of items they had picked up around his office. He snorted with laughter, goofy grins spread across their faces. "What are you doing?"

"Well, you won't be needing these when you're fired." Bryan grinned, holding a stapler in his left hand and a bottle of eyeglass cleaner in his right.

"Those aren't even… Wow, that's great that you're all making a joke out of it."

"Relax, man, we're just playing. We overheard everything from my office. You're safe." Chris smiled, putting down Nicky's coat on top of the filing cabinet.

He shrugged. "Yeah, well he hasn't talked to Cap'n yet. That's when you can sweep up my ashes."

Chris moved toward him and sat on the edge of his desk. "You'll be fine, man. You've got best case closing rates around the department. He won't let you go."

"Yeah, whatever." He sighed, watching his coworkers leave and the pile of his things left behind. "Hey, who took my sub?"

* * *

"Aren't you going to school?" Jonathon having just finished shaving, nearly walked right into Shawn on his exit from the bathroom.

"Aren't _you_?" Came his coarse reply.

Jonathon frowned. "Yes and I'm leaving in five."

"Good for you."

Choosing to ignore him, Jonathon retreated to his bedroom and got dressed. When he entered the living room, Shawn was laying on the couch flipping channels on the TV. "Hunter, you've missed every day this week. Now you're just taking advantage of me."

"No, I'm not. There's just no point."

"No point in school? How do you figure?"

Shawn tossed the remote on the table and leaped off the couch. "Fine. You want me to go, then I'll go."

"Shawn…" Jonathon warned, but decided not to get into it again. "Hurry up! We're gonna be late!"

When they finally got to the parking lot, Jonathon noticed that Shawn was wearing the same t-shirt and track pants that he wore to bed. "What were you doing in your room if you weren't getting changed?"

"What's it to you?"

"Wha–?" Jonathon did up his jacket, as he looked the kid up and down. "What do ya mean what's it to me? We're running late and all you did was take off your robe. That took 10 minutes?"

Shawn flipped his hair out of his eyes. "It's none of your business, okay?"

"Hey, don't talk to me like that." He sighed, as he swung his leg over the Harley. "Just, come on."

"Forget it, I'll walk." He started to back away, Jonathon reaching out and grabbing what he could of his t-shirt.

"No, you're not. You're coming with me, Shawn. What are you doing?"

"What are _you_ doing ?Let go of me!" He yelled, attracting the attention of onlookers.

Jonathon let go of him and, instead, ran that free hand through his hair. "Why are you being like this?"

His eyes narrowed, as he turned away from him, toward the street. "Just let me go, Jon!"

* * *

"Alright then, has everyone handed in their essays on the Cold War?" Mr. Feeny asked, picking up the stack of papers on his desk and weighing it in his hand. "Feels just one C minus short. Mr. Matthews?"

"Hey, mine's in there, Mr. Feeny."

"Yes, and where's your partner in crime's paper… not to mention his body?"

"Well, I'm sure that they're together." Cory tried, scratching his head.

Mr. Feeny crossed the room and stood before him. "Where is Mr. Hunter? Not another case of that darned Hong Kong Sloth, I hope." He smiled grimly, the sarcasm in his voice was threatening.

"I don't know." He answered honestly, finally out of excuses.

Mr. Feeny returned to his desk and filed the papers into his briefcase.

"Shawn wasn't in first period today, either, Mr. Feeny." Topanga chimed in, receiving a kick in the foot from behind her.

"Topanga!" Cory hissed, but the damage was already done.

When the bell rang, Cory watched Feeny head down the hallway, taking a quick right into Turner's classroom.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, well, well. Look-y what we got here." Chet Hunter smirked at him through the glass after placing the phone to his ear and sitting down.

"You've never seen me before in your life, pal." Nicky returned just as smug.

"No, but ya got cop-er written all over ya, boy." Chet replied, looking Nicky up and down.

Nicky hated prison visits. Sometimes it was comforting to see someone who truly deserved it to be in an orange jumpsuit, but other times it felt as though he was giving them a window to the outside world; something that they didn't deserve. "Yeah and you've got fresh meat written all over you. Tell me, do the other boys here know you're a baby beater? Does your cell mate know what you did to your little boy?" He winked at him, in that moment feeling satisfied with karma.

Chet shifted in his seat, glancing around the room to ensure no one had heard. He clutched the phone tighter, his hand cupping his mouth around the speaker and his voice lowered. "No and it's gonna stay that way, ya hear?"

Nicky grinned. "Loud and clear. That is, I hear the hint of fear in your voice and the chattering of your teeth into the phone."

"What? Are ya just here to get on my nerves, then?" Chet spat.

"Oh, no. Actually, I'm here to give you a second chance. Not like you deserve one and if it were up to me there'd be a needle in your arm, but Shawn needs you to help him and if you've got anything but air between your ears then you'll take the opportunity and be grateful."

"Who do ya think ya are, ya little…"

"Careful there, Chet. Wouldn't want your dirty little secret slipping out into general pop."

He could see the vein bulging in Chet's forehead and his nostrils flaring. He had pissed him off rather efficiently. "What do you want?"

"Someone else has been hurting your son. You remember him, right? Shawn? The kid that you beat the living daylights out of for years on end and stole his soul?" Nicky was sweating, his anger difficult to keep in check. "You know who that is. You knew your stepson was molesting Shawn and you did shit-all to protect him!"

Chet struck his index finger in his direction as he spoke. "That has nothing to do with me!" He growled, though his voice just a little bit more than a whisper.

"It has everything to do with you!" Nicky roared, surpassing his limit for calm. "You watched it happen! You beat the crap out of him for it, like it was his fault! What's the matter, Chet? You afraid he might be gay, you stupid son-of-a-bitch?"

"My boy is no faggot! I love Shawn-y!"

Nicky snarled. "You say that like it would change things. If you really love your son then you prove it."

* * *

"Jonathon," Mr. Feeny called, hurrying toward him. "I thought you said that you were going to have Shawn come into school today?"

"What?" Jonathon looked around his classroom, a large group of seventh graders eavesdropping on their conversation. "Read!" He ordered them, leading Mr. Feeny out into the hallway.

"You know, I believe that routine is truly the best thing for him during this hard time."

"George, I got him up for school. We were ready to leave and then we got into it again." Jonathon was fuming. "He said he was going to walk. Damn it! I should've known." He took off down the hallway without a second thought.

"Jonathon, your class!" Mr. Feeny shouted after him.

"Cover me!"

He had never been on the road in such little time in his life. He didn't even remember starting up his bike or putting on his helmet, but he did it and it was on him. He was halfway home, his body bringing him there without being directed by his brain. His highest hopes were that Shawn walked around the block and went back to the house after he'd left. If he was right then he could be angry with him and then they'd move past it. If he was wrong then that was a whole other story.

When he got to the apartment, he slowed down, having convinced himself that he would find Shawn there, still in his pajamas, enthralled in an infomercial just like all the other days that week. He was so convinced that when he didn't find him on the couch, he went room to room through the apartment looking for him. Reality set in and Jonathon finally allowed himself to panic.

"Shawn's missing!" Another action he made without having to think about it. He was on the phone with Nicky, surprising even himself that his first instinct was calling Nicky of all people.

Nicky's voice sounded strange, but Jonathon brushed it off, more pressing matters on his agenda. "What do you mean, he's missing?"

"I mean, I can't find him!"

"Why? What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything! Hey, this isn't as easy as you think it is." Jonathon hissed.

"Just calm down, alright? I'll be there in a minute."

"I didn't know who else to call." Jonathon said, stepping back to let Nicky through the doorway.

Nicky ignored him. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Jonathon checked his watch. "Not even four hours ago. We were leaving for school and then he sprung on me that he wanted to walk."

"And you let him?"

"No, I grabbed him by the collar and tied him to the back of my Harley so he wouldn't walk five blocks."

Nicky lowered his chin, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Was he angry?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Jonathon shook his head. "You just think this is all my fault, don't you?"

"Well, you are his guardian. You shouldn't be letting him go off on his own."

"He's fifteen! You want me to take away his freedom because of his tragic childhood? He's not the prisoner here! And if you don't remember, it was in the protection of his own home that he was hurt." He glared at him. "You think you could do a better job, don't you?"

Nicky didn't have time to answer. He could feel the blood boiling in his veins, but a knock at the door sent his emotions back a bit. "You gonna answer that, buddy?"

Jonathon was breathing heavily, the conversation had clearly gotten heated on both ends. He stepped toward the door not breaking eye contact with him until his hand wrapped around the door knob.

There were two men on the other side, both looking familiar, one of them Nicky couldn't quite place.

"Alan?" Jonathon sounded surprised, obviously not expecting him.

"Jon, I've got someone I'd like you to meet. This is Vince Chase." He said, gesturing toward the other man. "Vince, this is Jonathon Turner."

Jonathon nodded. "Okay, um… Is that all?"

Nicky finally clicked in. "Vince Chase? Really?"

Jonathon turned to him, looking distraught.

"He's a Private Investigator." He told him, wondering if this day could possibly get worse but not willing to bet on it. "What the hell do you need a P.I. for?"

Alan blushed. "Well, I thought he could help Shawn."

Nicky crossed the room and stood before him. "P.I.s are for when cops aren't doing their job. You have something to say to me?"

"Adams, relax, would ya?" Nicky cringed at the sound of Chase's voice, always having hated his New England accent.

He ignored him and turned to Jonathon. "I'm going out to look for Shawn. You can go ahead and waste your time with this loser."

"What do you mean, 'look for Shawn'?" Alan asked, his deep voice cracking.

"Detective Adams, before ya go, ya might want to waste a little of your time with some valuable information."

"What?" He almost shouted.

"You might have another victim."

* * *

It was getting dark and Shawn was getting cold. He should've brought his jacket but he was too focussed on rebelling to do something so obvious. He was also starving and exhausted, but he wouldn't let himself go back. He wouldn't go for the world. Or, at least, not yet.

There were a lot of people out on that particular night. At least it felt that way, because everyone had eyes on him, like leaning against a wall and bouncing a ball represented danger. He tried not to notice them but he couldn't stare at the ground forever. Especially not when his ball hit his toe and rolled out into traffic. He started to go after it, but a loud honking sent him jumping back onto the sidewalk. "Great." He muttered. No ball, no coat, no food, no money. He had nothing. Nowhere to go, no one to talk to. No one he wanted to talk to.

He began down the street in the direction he came, imagining that he would run into someone that he knew and could repel them once more. He would endure satisfaction and power and when they finally dismissed him, those feelings would abandon him and he would be cold again.

Cold is such a scary thing to feel. It is bitter and unpredictable. It keeps his muscles tense and body stiff and huddled, his entire physical being already in defense mode, anticipating attack and disaster. Cold kept his mind sharp and racing, his thoughts scattered and sporadic, but constantly revolving around the reminder that he was cold. With every breath he could see it, making it difficult to think of anything else.

His toes ached, his face was numb and his arms were covered in sharp bumps that friction couldn't heal. His body was rejecting his surroundings, his every fibre wanting to go inside somewhere warm. Anywhere would be suffice.

But Shawn was stubborn. He could relent and find somewhere warm to hide, but then they'd find him. Shawn didn't want to be found. Not by Jonathon, not by Nicky, not by the police. He wanted to be his own man if not just for one night. He didn't trust anyone, so he kept his head down. No one bothered a guy with his head down, his mind somewhere else. Anything appearing out of the norm could be a threat even to the abnormal. Indeed, he would be fine tonight. Just as long as he could beat this friggin' cold.


	4. Chapter 4

THANKS FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND YOUR PATIENCE, GUYS! SORRY BUT PLEASE TRY TO KEEP IN MIND THAT I'M IN COLLEGE WITH A BUSY WORKLOAD. I'LL ALWAYS UPDATE, DON'T YOU WORRY!

* * *

"What do you mean there could be another victim?" Jonathon was almost yelling, his heart beginning to race as fast as his mind.

Vince Chase smirked at his reaction, Jonathon beginning to share Nicky's disdain form him. "Well, I did a little digging and I found that Shawn has two other siblings."

Jonathon was speechless, Nicky beating him to the questions. "How could that be? We've searched his records."

"And on his records there's no connection between him and Eddie Richmond, either." Vince's eyes rolled while he analyzed the doorframe he stood beneath. "Might we come in and discuss this?"

Jonathon stepped aside, allowing room for the men to pass him. He couldn't bring himself to believe that there were more kids enduring the same pain as Shawn that they hadn't known had even existed. Shawn never mentioned them and he certainly never spoke to them for all Jonathon knew. But then again, what did he know?

"So they're stepsiblings?" Nicky asked, following the rest to the living area.

"No. Stacey Margaret Keillor lived under Virna and Chet's guardianship for two years. Foster kid." He added, noticing their puzzled expressions.

"They were living in a trailer. How did they get to be foster parents?" Nicky speculated, crossing his arms across his chest, clearly hating to consider what Vince was telling them.

"They were living in an apartment building at the time. You know better than anyone, Detective, how desperate the foster system is."

Jonathon sat down, feeling like he had just turned a page in the history book of Shawn, revealing a whole world of information that Jonathon had previously been oblivious. Every time he thought he knew everything, there was always some big reveal, pushing him back further than he had ventured. "So who's the other kid, then?" He asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

Vince crossed his right leg over his left and scratched his cheek through his beard. The crunching sound of his whiskers against his fingernails made Jonathon's skin crawl, putting him, his aggravation becoming amplified. "Chet Hunter's son." He responded with narrow eyes.

His eyes were beady and black, gazing upon him, he felt under scrutiny and looked down, taking in the news carefully. "His son? You mean, Shawn has a half-brother?"

Vince crossed his arms, his answer short and smug. "The kid you're looking for is in New York City and answers to the name: Jack Hunter."

* * *

Nicky couldn't have gotten out of there faster. He was anxious and frustrated, his body rejecting any attempt to relax. He was running on zero hours of sleep in two days and several pots of coffee. He was concerned for Shawn, but most of all he was avoiding sleep.

His subconscious was just that: an unaware form of his mind with no barriers, no sifting, and no ability to end the unnerving ride of terror. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw what he avoided picturing during the day. Descriptions of victims and their assaults, murders, and horrifying experiences with perpetrators, were motioning constantly through his mind like a circuit, which he would dismiss through conscious thought and filtering; however, in his sleep, he was helpless. He was just as victim as those of his cases.

He was bothered by the image of Chet's face that seemed to be imprinted on his brain. He was eager but not in the way that Nicky had expected the conversation to unravel. He had tricks up his sleeve and viciously performed them before his eyes. Nicky left with no explanations, the fore sought phrase, "How does he do it?" only an utter away.

It was not that there was a traditional magic show in front of him. He hadn't just watched his friend be sawed in half without feeling a thing. Quite contrarily, he was about to watch Shawn be stabbed in the back and the pain – as if he could take much more – would be overwhelming. "How does he do it?", therefore, was in reference to ethics. How does he live with himself? How could he possibly hurt his own son in this way.

"Who do ya think ya are, threatening me?" Chet was red in the face and gritting his teeth.

Nicky smirked. "Look at the role reversal! I guess being a douchebag does come back to bite you, doesn't it?"

"I ain't doin' nothin' ya say, boy. I got myself a lawyer and she says I'll be out of here in no time."

Nicky hadn't an idea how to react and so he laughed. No way was Chet getting out. He was guilty. They caught him. He was done. And then something clicked. "I thought you waved your right to council?"

"I changed my mind. I didn't do nothin'."

"You confessed! You wrote it out by hand and signed! You're just wasting time." Nicky shook his head in disbelief. "What kind of lawyer would take you on, anyway?"

"That would be me, Detective." A woman's voice leered in his uncovered ear.

Her voice surprising him, he dropped the phone, catching it between his shoulder and wrist. Once he got a good look at her, the news he had just been given settled in. "You're his attorney?" He looked her up and down, a middle-aged woman, dressed in a beige suit stood before him.

"The real question is, what are you doing speaking to my client without my presence?" She pursed her thin lips, creases forming around her mouth, reminding him of his mother giving him a scolding. "Well?"

"I didn't know he had an attorney! This was a closed case. This _is_ closed! You'd think a woman of your stature would be above burly child abusers."

She cocked her head. "I'll take that as a compliment, but flattery or not, you are not to see Mr. Hunter again without my presence or I'll be notifying your captain. Understood?"

Nicky jumped to his feet, angrily, finding that he towered over the woman.

"You've got to be kidding me." She scoffed. "You cops are all the same."

"Well, you're something else! Hope your children are okay with your approval of men who senselessly beats young kids." He pivoted and stormed toward the door.

"I don't have children."

When he turned, she was glaring at him. "No kidding! Oh and by the way, you'll be getting a subpoena via my fist. I wanna be there personally to see your face." He spat.

"Pertaining to?" She crossed her arms.

"Chet will be testifying against his stepson. He's a witness."

"Oh, you think so? Well, Chet will be pleading the fifth."

* * *

Jonathon's mind was everywhere. His thoughts were lost and fast. His body, unfortunately, not nearly as lost or fast as Shawn was; not even enough to find him. He parked his bike in the mall parking lot, deciding it better to walk than ride. On his bike, all he wanted to do was power through the streets and this particular task required quite the opposite of rushing.

He was moments away from resorting to calling out his name. Like a simple game of 'Marco-Polo', he imagined Shawn appearing from a distant crowd and calling back: "Yeah? I'm right here, Jon!" But that was too easy; almost laughable. Shawn wasn't that easy, he was, in fact, extremely complex. Much more complex than even he gave himself credit for.

The sun had set and on that frigid night the only people out were those who had to be: homeless persons, dirty, greasy, scary looking people – plus Shawn if he could find him. It hurt Jonathon to know that Shawn was most certainly comparing himself to these same people and believing he was as worthless as they were. In the least scandalous way, these people were nothing like Shawn. Where Shawn saw hopelessness in his reflection, Jonathon saw nothing of the sort. Jonathon wasn't perfect. He had a tendency to stereotype, courtesy of his Rockefeller upbringing, but he never lumped Shawn into similar categories of those he did judge. He liked Shawn and despite his jokes about his hard life, Jonathon could see him for the smart, ambitious kid he really was.

It was so dark that Jonathon had to bow down in order to see the faces of those he passed. The street lamps were dim and the people all looked the same: empty, lonely, broken. It was simple to find the kid with heartbreak amongst those who were satisfied. However, searching for a lost soul amongst this purgatory was almost impossible.

Jonathon's ears were aching, his face numb and wet from the flurried wind. He stopped at an intersection, the first time since he'd gotten off his bike. The cars rushing by him made him shiver, as if they were causing the bitter wind. They had not a care in the world. They weren't out searching for the only thing that made them happy, at least, not in the frozen streets.

Jonathon looked up at the street sign that hung over him. As it swayed back and forth, it pushed itself, slowly shifting in its post, turning clockwise. It stuck out further and further with each gust of wind so that as it turned, it edged nearer and nearer to the sign above the doorway of the convenience store, which stood behind him. He backed up slowly from the road, despite the fact that the traffic light was signalling him to cross. He turned for the door, a leap in his step as he hurried into the store.

"Hey! You been here all day?"

A redheaded man snapped his head around, Jonathon having caught his attention. "I sure have." He said in an Irish accent, smoothing his hand over his pointed beard. "You best believe it. I'm ready to go home."

"Right," Jonathon said, feeling incapable of small talk. "I'm looking for a teenage boy. He's about 5"5, Brown hair, blue eyes, skinny."

"Err…" The man tightened his jaw. "I get a lotta kids in here. You got a picture?"

Jonathon felt annoyed. "If I had a picture I would've shown it to you."

"Well, some folks just aren't that smart, now are they? Easy there. And I thought it was the Irish with the red hot tempers."

"Look, he's fifteen, he doesn't have a coat, and he's not in the best mind setting. I really have to find him."

The man drifted out from behind the counter and halted in front of the magazine rack. "Wait. Yeah, a kid came in here a couple of hours ago. No coat, no real clothes. He was in his pyjamas for Christ's sake! I called the police."

"What? Why?"

The man looked him over. "He your boy?"

"Yes."

"Yeah? You get in a row?"

Jonathon slid his hands up to his hips. "Where are you going with this?"

"I don't got a lotta respect for drunks." He crossed his arms. "I hope I'm wrong."

"Okay, what are you talking about?"

He sighed. "He had a bloody lip and two red eyes. Someone sure did a number on him and it better bloody well not have been you."

* * *

NOTE: SORRY IF I DIDN'T GET THE IRISH THING DOWN. I GUESS I NEED TO GET BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH MY IRISH ROOTS. ALSO, I MEANT NOTHING OFFENSIVE OF THE CHANGE IN ETHNICITY WHEN IT CAME TO CONVENIENCE STORE OWNERSHIP. THE GUY DOWN THE STREET FROM MY HOUSE IS IRISH AND OWNS HIS OWN STORE. HE'S BASICALLY MY MODEL FOR THE STORY. IT'S A SHAME HOW OUR SOCIETY IS NOW, THAT I FELT I HAD TO CLEAR THIS UP I ALSO WANTED TO BREAK AWAY FROM THE SAME OLE' PHILLY ACCENT I HAVE IN MY HEAD WHEN I DO DIALOGUE.

ANYWAYYYY… Thanks for reading! And REVIEW!


	5. Chapter 5

"You're saying someone beat him up?"

"That's what I told the police."

Jonathon lifted a shaky hand and wiped it across his mouth. "What happened? Did you talk to him?"

The frown on the man's face fell. "I tried. He took one look at me and ran. He smacked his hip on the way out and he didn't even stop, like he didn't feel it. He looked pretty scared, if you ask me."

Jonathon wanted to lower himself to the floor. He was breaking down but couldn't let himself feel it just yet. He had to find Shawn. Every second he wasted was a second Shawn was in danger. He was in danger from himself just as much as he was of those who had hurt him. And it wasn't over.

"Look, I can't promise the lad was your's."

Jonathon didn't bother responding. He wasn't sure he could muster a response, the only thing he wanted to do was release his anger and frustration, which boiled beneath his skin. He darted out the door, spotting a payphone across the street. It felt like he floated there, as one minute he was staring at it through the blur of blinding snow and the next he had his hands on either side of it, his pounding head on its top. After a moment, he slid a quarter into the slot and picked up the phone.

Shawn knew he should get up. He had lost feeling in his legs and his skin stung all over. His body was shaking and his vision was blurred, but he didn't want to move. He didn't know where he was or how he got there. No matter how much he wished he were in his bed, he continued to lay on the cold, hard pavement.

He could hear voices around him. It seemed that they carried through the wind like an echo. They were the same voice. They were repeating the same things.

_"I know what you did. You're a little punk. You know what we do to little punks. You know the drill."_

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make the image of their faces disappear. He knew that nothing would make that happen. He rolled onto his side and tucked his knees to his chest. He let out a groan, feeling pain but unsure whether it was physical or something deep inside him. All he knew was that he was in pain and that it was agony.

Jonathon was running now. He didn't have an actual location to hurry to or even a direction to go in, but he was sprinting back the way he came, nonetheless. He recognized Nicky's car a mile up the road and when he noticed his left turning signal, Jonathon decided to take a right.

Shawn couldn't have gotten far. He hoped he hadn't, but that hope went hand in hand with something terrible having happened to him. He was just a kid. It was past midnight. So many awful things could have happened to him and if it did then he was responsible. He should have made Shawn ride with him to school or at least let him stay home. Nevertheless, he knew in his heart that neither of those things was the right thing to do. He couldn't be that permissive as to let him do whatever he wanted, but he also wasn't about to drag him all the way to school. There was nothing else that he could've done, or so he told himself each time he replayed the scenario in his head.

He slowed to a walking pace, breathing heavily. He could see his large puffs of breath in the air, the snow finally subsiding. He crossed another road, bringing him to the front of his apartment building. His last remaining hope was that Shawn had come home when he had been out. Out of habit, he walked swiftly past the front entrance, following the stone path to the side entrance, off the parking lot.

Along the path was a fence, barricading the building from the alleyway that connected the two main roads at the front and rear of the building. Jonathon fished through his pockets, the poorly lit path making it difficult to find his key. He heard the sound of medal against pavement and bent down, feeling for his key. His hand brushed the ground surrounding him, but pulled up nothing.

He heard a groan. As he stood up, he wondered if Nicky had followed him home – or if it were Shawn. He was anxious. "Hunter? Is that you?"

There was no response, but the sound of traffic echoing in his ears.

He spun around and stared into the blackness of the alleyway. Something wasn't right, a bad feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. "Hey! Is anyone there?"

Another groan, this time followed by a cough.

Jonathon threw himself against the fence, his fingers entwined with the diamond shaped chain links. "Shawn? Hey, are you there?"

A car pulled into the parking lot and the headlights shone in on the alley. They reflected off the window on the next building, causing Jonathon to squint. When he turned his head once more, he caught a glimpse of a body curled up on the ground, against the building. The car turned and the headlights led. As it straightened in a parking spot, the lights illuminated the alleyway, catching Shawn's face in its direct glow.

Jonathon slammed his fist against the fence, frustrated at his hesitation. He grasped the bar at the top of the fence and leaped over it, as if the adrenaline were hoisting him. It would have been more practical if he had just run around it, but he was too distracted for practicality. "Shawn! Are you okay? The hell happened?" He dove to his knees next to Shawn, his hand grasping his bare arm and pulling him toward him.

His skin was like ice, every visible inch of it was blue like a bruise. However, he knew it wasn't, because if it were then his face would be indescribable. His eyes were open, but that was an understatement. His right eye was swollen and his left eye appeared dark like a shadow, a cut beneath his eyelid. His lips were blue and twice their usual size. They trembled out of control, his body almost vibrating in his arms. He stared up at him, not uttering a word, Jonathon unsure if that were because he couldn't or if his response was obvious.

Jonathon ripped off his coat and draped it over the boy. "Shawn? Say something…" His voice was high pitched, as he added, "Please?"

"Jon!" A voice called him, but it wasn't who he wanted it to be. He looked up and saw through his squinting that Nicky was approaching him. The headlights were behind him and Jonathon realized that it was his car that had pulled up in the parking lot, enabling him to find Shawn and his condition. "Jon, let's get him to the ER!"

Glancing down, Jonathon saw the panic in Shawn's eyes before he said anything. "NO! Th-They'll f-find meee! N-no! P-puh-lease!" He clutched Jonathon's arm, pulling himself up and thrusting Jonathon away.

"Hey," Jonathon said, softly. He wrapped his arm around his shoulder, pulling him against his chest, the entirety of his body fitting in his lap. He held him there tightly for a moment, thankful that he was finally safe, but as his teeth chattered in his ear, he pulled them both to their feet. He was freezing. He was sick.

As if on cue, an ambulance pulled into the driveway of the apartment building. There were sirens wailing. They were wailing all along, but Jonathon hadn't taken notice.

"No! Jonnn!" Shawn's shivering was making his voice whine. "I c-can't! J-Jon!" His arms hugging himself, he stood close to Jonathon, as if trying to absorb his body heat.

Jonathon picked up his coat that had fallen on the ground and placed it over Shawn's shoulders. "It's okay. Shhhh." He rubbed the upper part of his arms with his palms, then pulled him against his chest, his arms around him.

"Shawn, we're going to take care of you, okay, buddy?" Nicky had jumped the fence, a blanket in his arms.

Shawn didn't say anything. There was nothing but emptiness in his wide eyes.

Jonathon slipped Shawn's arms into the sleeves of his coat, taking the blanket from Nicky and wrapped it around him tightly.

A man appeared, pushing a stretcher, a woman following close behind. The sight of it made Jonathon feel sick. Though it was clear that Shawn needed help and Jonathon wasn't going to deny him that, it represented the seriousness, making real the thoughts that were, before that, just thoughts.

Suddenly there were groups of people surrounding them. People from the apartment building above, having spotted the commotion out their windows; people walking by or driving past, all ironically wanting a piece of something no one in their right mind would want anything to do with.

A police car pulled up beside the ambulance, the lights spinning and reflecting off the buildings. But there weren't any sirens. He had the feeling that something wasn't right: that he didn't understand something. Jonathon looked at Nicky who was prying Shawn away from him, his attention only on the object of the mission. When Nicky met his gaze, he sent him a look that made him realize what he was doing. He dropped his arms, allowing the paramedics to ease him onto the stretcher.

He watched blankly as they piled him with blankets, noticing that they were restraining him or else he would be fighting. He didn't say anything. He must've known that he needed help, but the tears on his face suggested that he knew that there wasn't anything that they could do. Jonathon promised him that he would protect him. They both knew that that was impossible.

"Jon, he's going to be fine." Nicky's hand was on his shoulder and he was watching him with sympathetic eyes.

Jonathon wondered if he looked like how he felt. He felt dead. "Tell me what you're thinking." He said, watching the paramedics lift Shawn into the ambulance. "Tell me what everyone here's thinking."

Nicky narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You know what happened. You called an ambulance and cops and…" He trailed off.

"I am the cops." He shook his head. "Nothing good's happened to a kid laying in an alley."

Jonathon climbed into the bus, Nicky following him to the edge. "It never ends, does it?"


	6. Chapter 6

WARNING! COARSE LANGUAGE AND MENTION OF ABUSE AND RAPE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF EITHER OF THOSE THINGS OFFEND YOU... BUT I'M SURE YOU GUYS ALREADY KNEW THIS WOULD COME UP CONSIDERING YOU'VE BEEN READING FOR SO LONG!

ENJOY!

Shawn was gone. He had never been further away from Jonathon, despite the fact that he was just next to him. He wasn't the same kid that Jonathon taught English. He wasn't even the same kid he took in off the streets. He was a wreck in the night, at first only when he was having a nightmare and soon those nightmares broke him down until he needed to be consoled in order to regroup. Eventually, if he wasn't in a rage or a depression, then he was just as broken during the day as he was during the night. The Shawn he knew was gone.

The real Shawn wasn't angry, apathetic, or mute. He was tough and he didn't allow anyone to see him cry. He was humorous and easy going and he was the strongest kid that Jonathon had ever met. This was nothing compared to what Jonathon was trying not to watch and making him unable to control the moisture in his eyes, his heart caught in his throat.

It took four nurses to hold him down. One of which sticking a needle into him, sedating him. Shawn was in hysterics. Nobody blamed him, however. The reasons for that could go unsaid.

Nicky had a hand on Jon's shoulder, which tightened as Shawn's screams heightened. He stood behind Jonathon, Jonathon finding no place for himself but glued by Shawn's side. He caressed his hair, only being able to do so because Shawn's arms were being held down by broad-shouldered, male nurses who were larger than he was. It was heartbreaking and Jonathon wondered how many times his heart could break before he began to feel as numb as Shawn was.

Once Shawn had settled, the nurses filed out of the room. They had said things to Jonathon. They said a lot, but he hadn't heard or understood a word of it. He just stood there beside Shawn, laying lost in a deep daze.

"Hunter…" Jonathon's voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry, buddy."

His eyes trailed slowly toward him until they met his face. His eyelids half open, he blinked a few times and then he closed them, soaking up this artificial peace.

Nicky moved toward the door, waving at Jonathon to follow.

Jonathon was reluctant to leave Shawn, but he did. His desire for fresh air was more powerful. He caught the door that Nicky held open for him but didn't stop in the hallway as he assumed Nicky wanted. He didn't stop until there were no more doors that he could exit. The cold was so lethal, but in that moment, it was like a drug, his own momentary peace.

Nicky followed him out. He might've been calling his name, but Jonathon was oblivious. "This isn't completely terrible."

Jonathon spun around. "What?" He didn't understand him. Jonathon firmly believed that nothing more terrible could have happened.

"This could help things." He rephrased.

Jonathon breathed deeply, feeling as though that had been his first breath all night. He pressed his lips together, which was all he could do to keep from grinding away at his teeth. "Are you possessed?"

"Jon, we've been chasing our tails with this case. We have witnesses now. We have names."

Jonathon shook his head. "Do you know something I don't?"

Nicky sighed. "For the case's sake I'm pretty sure I'm right. But for Shawn's sake…I hope to God I'm wrong."

* * *

Nicky swayed back and forth, as he waited. He was more than eager to wipe the floor with the kid and that was exactly what he was nervous about. He wouldn't have missed this opportunity for anything, but he was on his last straw with the police force and couldn't afford any mishaps. Regardless, Eddie Richmond was going to get what he deserved.

"Officer," a guard waved at him, sounding the buzzing as the door opened.

"Detective." He corrected him, moving toward the door as another guard pulled a dark-haired kid over the threshold. Nicky was speechless. The kid looked almost as young as Shawn. He was dirty, thin, and not very tall. Dominating his face were bruises and infected looking cuts, and the pattern continued down his arms and neck, which were most likely even further and worst along his body. By the looks of him, one might be lead to have sympathy on him, but that would be on entirely different circumstances.

The guard uncuffed Eddie's hands, forcing him into a chair. He used two sets of handcuffs and chained each wrist to two loops sticking out of the table. "This is Richmond. Play nice, Adams." The guard chortled, as he exited the room.

Nicky began to pace. "Edward Richmond."

"Eddie!" He corrected him, his lips curled and he let out a loud growl, as if he were a dog.

Nicky stopped abruptly, his shoe squeaking against the floor, and slapped the table loudly.

He jumped and Nicky smirked.

"Aren't you tough. That's just what you do, isn't it? You assert your manhood?"

"Shut your fuckin' mouth!"

Nicky took a deep breath. "You're not much of man, though. You like boys? Really?"

Eddie shot up, rattling his hands in the chains, trying to hit him, but the chains restrained him. "Shut up! SHUT UP!"

"Well, that's not gunna make you very popular."

"I do what I fuckin' want! I'll fuckin' shank you! I will! That little prick deserved it! HE'S MY BITCH! YOU GOT THAT? MINE!"

Nicky lunged at him and grabbed him by the throat. His whole hand wrapped around it and he watched him grimace. His hand shook, as his veins throbbed. Eddie's face went from red to purple, and, though, he rattled his chains desperately, he couldn't break free. He kicked him, but nothing was breaking the hold Nicky had on him. He could break him. In that very moment he could break him and be done with him. He would go straight to hell and finally get what he so longingly deserved. This was exactly what he fantasized about doing to every perpetrator he faced. Just a little bit tighter, just a little bit longer…

"Detective?" A voice behind him…

Nicky returned to reality with a jolt. He threw his neck filled fist forward, sending Eddie flying down into his chair. He grasped the back of it as it started to flip backward from the force. Nicky bent over the now shaking punk and breathed into his ear. "You're MY bitch!"

* * *

Shawn stared up at the ceiling. He was surrounded by people, walls, and a sickness that crept through his veins and sat on his chest. He was suffocating and he was dying. But he wasn't really. He just wanted to. He just wanted to be as dead on the outside as he was on the inside, because then his pain would be real and feeling so much pain would be explained.

He was motionless. There were blankets tucked around him, and tubes and wires hanging off of him uncomfortably beneath the sheets. To Shawn the body underneath the covers wasn't his. It was boney and white and broken. It was violated. It had been poked and prodded and injected with things that didn't belong inside it. This wasn't his body. It just couldn't be.

He was relieved when he heard the door open. He couldn't stand being alone. Not because he was afraid but because he couldn't stand to hear his thoughts. He was afraid of himself.

It was Jonathon who entered and replaced himself at the side of his bed. "Hey, Hunter. You're awake."

Shawn said nothing, annoyed at his observation.

Jonathon gently placed his hand on Shawn's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible." Shawn said, honestly.

Jonathon pressed his lips together. "Nicky's here. Do you think you're up to seeing him?"

He closed his eyes, sighing carelessly. "Like I really have a choice."

"What do you mean? Of course you have a choice, Shawn. It's okay, pal. I'll tell him to come back later, okay?" Jonathon tilted his head to meet Shawn's direct eye line. "What?" He asked after a moment, like he had read him.

Shawn shook his head as if to say 'nothing,' but he found words slipping out of his mouth, anyway. "Thanks, Jon."

Jonathon slid his hand down from his forehead to his cheek and he caressed his thumb against his skin, tenderly. "Hey, I'd do anything for ya, kid." He leaned over him and kissed his head, before starting toward the door.

"Wait." Shawn choked out, fighting with himself over whether he should call him back. "Don't go."

Jonathon gave him a small smile as he returned to his chair at his bedside. "You got it, Hunter."

* * *

He waited until he fell asleep before he left the room again. It took him a while to pry his fingers free from Shawn's tight grasp around them, but he did it gently as not to wake him. He wasn't used to this. Shawn wasn't vulnerable, and he wondered if this truly was better than Shawn shutting him out.

He walked out the door and was immediately confronted by Nicky and his partner. He held up his hands defensively to them as they approached. "He didn't want to see you. He's not ready. It's too soon."

"The sooner we get answers to our questions the sooner we get him justice." Nicky blurted out like it had been rehearsed. Jonathon figured he had probably said it millions of times, which could be evidence to its validity or just the opposite.

"Well I'm not forcing anything else on the kid. Don't you think he's had enough forced on him?"

Chris stepped forward. "Mr. Turner, we're not trying to upset either you or Shawn, but we have his test results and the sooner we get his statement, the sooner we can make an arrest."

Jonathon stepped forward. "Whoa, wait a minute. What test results? No one told me anything about that."

Nicky looked at Chris and back at Jonathon. "The rape kit. We just got faxed a copy and…"

"And what?"

He looked uneasy. "There was semen found and damage and rupturing of his…"

"Stop!" Jonathon fell back against the wall behind him and slid until he hit the floor. "They…raped him. Again?"

He sighed. "I'm so sorry."

"By who?"

Chris crouched down in front of him. "That's what we hope to get out of Shawn."

HEY GUYS! SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT DUTY CALLS! I APPRECIATE THAT YOU'VE BEEN SO UNDERSTANDING AND I ESPECIALLY APPRECIATE ALL OF YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWS! I FEEL ON TOP OF THE WORLD WHEN I READ YOUR REVIEWS AND I KNOW I AM TRULY DOING SOMETHING THAT I LOVE. BEING APPRECIATED JUST MAKES IT ALL THE BETTER. I'M SO GLAD YOU ALL LIKE WHAT I'M DOING!

ANYWHOO TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY PROBLEMS WITH THE WAY THINGS ARE GOING, IF YOU THINK I'VE FORGOTTEN TO MENTION SOMETHING OR IF YOU THINK I SHOULD INCLUDE SOMETHING. I'M REALLY JUST PLANNING AS I WRITE, SO WHEN INSPIRATION HITS, HONESTLY, SOME REALLY COOL THINGS HAPPEN ON MY WORD DOC.

HOPE YOU LIKED THE CHAPTER! STAY TUNED! XOXO MEG


	7. Chapter 7

HI EVERYONE! THANKS FOR YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWS! I BLUSH EVERY TIME I READ THEM! HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE!

P.S. I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW IF MAIN STREET IS ACTUALLY A STREET IN PHILLY, BUT HECK DOESN'T EVERY TOWN HAVE A MAIN STREET? HAHA ENJOY!

* * *

Nicky leaned his head back against the wall behind his chair and tilted his coffee cup, sucking on the rim and gathering the last few drops on his tongue. It wasn't enough. The extra-large, bitterly black coffee wasn't enough to keep him awake. He was exhausted and restless, and enough was enough.

"Jon, come on. Putting this off so much is just making it worse." He'd told him, biting back any comments that reflected his impatience and the fact that he'd never had to wait this long for an interview after an assault.

"He's not ready. I'm not going to force him." Jonathon had argued, but Nicky finally convinced him.

He waited in the hallway, his partner pacing before him, having not the patience to sit. "Captain's called me three times now. We should have already made an arrest."

Nicky almost reassured him, but didn't have the heart. He felt just the same as Chris and wasn't about to pretend otherwise. He understood Shawn's situation but that was what made him want to carry on all the more.

Finally, the hospital room door swung open and Jonathon called them in.

There was a nurse by his side, changing the bag of his IV. She spoke softly: "His body temperature is up, finally. I'll have the doctor come to see him within the hour." She nodded at Jonathon and left the room, quickly.

Nicky took her place beside Shawn, as he loosened his tie and rolled his shoulders.

Shawn had his eyes closed. Since he knew he was awake, he understood that the kid was exhausted and really didn't want them anywhere near him. He was pretending he was elsewhere. Nicky was right there with him.

"Shawn," Nicky said, sounding as though he was trying to wake him. "We just need to ask you a few questions, buddy. It'll only take a few minutes."

Shawn's eyes shot open and immediately formed into a glare that seared through him like he'd shot him.

Nicky's stomach lurched, the coffee not sitting well on his empty stomach. "Two minutes. I promise."

He shut his eyes again.

"Okay?"

He didn't say a word for a long time. Nicky was thinking that he was going to make this difficult, but after a minute, he opened his mouth and didn't close it until he was finished. "I was walking down Main Street. It was snowing a lot and I couldn't see too good. I thought it was some old ladies. They looked like they were wearing the, you know, old lady scarves." He coughed and then kept going without anyone making a sound. "It was dark so I took off my hood so they wouldn't think I was up to no good, but when I got closer it was too late."

"Who were they?" Chris asked, who had taken a spot next to Nicky.

Shawn continued, however, as if he had never spoken at all. "All I heard was 'cock-sucker' – there was something before it but that's all I picked up. I heard it and I just knew it was them."

"Who?" Nicky asked, but Shawn again ignored the question.

"I just kept walking." He squeezed his eyes shut and grinned, appearing almost insane. "I thought that was it. That they would let me go." His grin turned to the gritting of his teeth, anger flashing across his face. "They grabbed my arms and started dragging me down the street. I slipped and fell on my face and they grabbed my legs and pulled me to the corner. And they kicked me and stuff. They all got their turns and then they left." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again and peered around the room. All of the men facing him shared the same look. "Two minutes. Done."

Nicky leaned forward and placed his hands on the rail that ran around his bed. "Actually, I said two minutes of asking questions." He didn't feel right playing games with him, but Shawn was working him like a tool.

"No." Shawn groaned, looking to Jonathon for aid. "I just told you what happened."

"Pretend I'm stupid." He blurted out.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Then I can't help you."

"Shawn." Jonathon tried, just as anxious as the rest of them.

"I have two questions, okay?"

"No." Shawn refused, shaking his head stubbornly.

"No? So what do you want, Shawn? You want them to come back? If you don't tell me everything, I can't stop that from happening! Do you understand that?"

He turned his head slowly until their eyes met and then a wide smile spread across his face. "You can't stop them. It's never gonna stop." His eyebrows raised. "None of you can do anything."

The men exchanged looks. Nicky feeling helpless, thought for a minute and then lifted his head, hopefully. "Then what do you have to lose?"

Shawn's eyes diverted to the ceiling and remained there, as if something more interesting were occurring just above him. He didn't speak. All he did was stare, unblinkingly, ignoring them.

"Were you raped tonight, Shawn?" Nicky asked, losing patience.

The expression on Shawn's face was stunned, but he didn't dare shift his gaze from the ceiling. He pressed his lips together and his nostrils flared. He raised his arm from under the blankets and slid it under his head for support. He was either trying not to speak or he couldn't speak at all.

"Did they rape you?" Chris echoed, putting his hand higher up on the bedrail.

"No." He turned his head towards the opposite wall, trying to hide. "I can't."

"They beat you up, Shawn. They tackled you. They ended up on top of you. You were outnumbered. They were bigger than you. It's not your fault."

Shawn sniffed loudly, his eyes rolling back as they continued to avoid him.

"Did they touch you?"

"Please, just go!" Shawn shrieked, sounding like they were attacking him right then. A tear escaped from his eye and once one fell down his cheek, the barrier gave in and tears began flowing down to his chin.

Jonathon quickly moved toward him, but Nicky held up his hand, stopping him from coddling him. It would only shut him down.

"What did they do, buddy?" He said more gently. He felt like a monster for pushing him so hard. He wanted to wrap him in his arms himself, but knew that it was for his own good. He needed to tell his story.

Shawn was gasping for breath between sobs, finally turning his attention toward him, which didn't quite make Nicky feel better. His eyes reminded him of a puppy's. Big, sad, innocent. The emptiness which they previously portrayed was gone. His shell had been cracked. "They kept beating on me! I was almost knocked out and then… I heard a loud… horn and they all j-just bolted. I got up. I…I was crawling a bit. I couldn't see… anything." He sat up in his bed and hugged himself, beginning to rock back and forth. He choked on his saliva and coughed and spluttered, ending and continuing with sobs.

"Then where'd you go." The voice was so soft that Nicky didn't recognize it. It was Chris' voice, who was being careful not to touch him. It was like a little bit longer, just a few more seconds of this pain.

He moaned and took several deep breaths before he answered him. "I went in th-th…the–"

"The corner store." Jonathon completed his sentence, watching him as if Shawn were about to combust.

"The guy s-s-said he was gunna call the cops. So I ran!" He wiped his cheeks a couple times; however, within seconds they were filled with tears again. "I just wanted to go home!"

"They found you." Nicky wasn't asking this time. They were filling in the blanks. It was like holding a match up to a dark murder scene, only revealing horror. These were things best left in the shadows.

"I was… almost there. Th-they r-ripped my clothes. They were holding me down and… and they kept doing it."

Nicky took a deep breath in and held it. "Kept doing what?"

Shawn shook vigorously. He gulped, his face wet and his mouth dry. "Raping me." He finally said and then collapsed on his side, Jonathon catching him and gathering him up in his arms.

Nicky leaned in closer, not sure where to put himself in the situation. It was like he was being raped again. Talking about it – it was something that Nicky never had the courage to do. "Hey. Hey, it's okay, now." _But it wasn't. _"Who was it? Who were they? Were they Eddie's friends?"

Jonathon was glaring at him. "Give it a break." He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Shawn, his face soaking Jonathon's shoulder. He rubbed his back and held a firm hand on his head, like he were protecting him from Nicky. "Enough, alright?"

* * *

Jonathon had never held a person like he was holding Shawn. He didn't have kids and he didn't have the stones to express such love for a woman who spent the night. Shawn was as close as he could get and Jonathon wasn't backing away. Shawn needed him to be his crutch. The way he clutched Jonathon's shirt in his hand and the way his breathing evened in Jonathon's ear, was a closeness that they both needed. Jonathon needed Shawn to be okay. Shawn needed to feel able to be okay. He was hopeless and that was the best Jonathon could do.

He was aware at how weird it must have looked. The teenager was practically in his lap, grasping onto him like he was his last connection to sanity. Like he, alone, was keeping him alive.

There was silence and after a few moments, Jonathon pulled the kid back, his hands on either side of his face, and surveyed him. There were no tears left on his face. He had cried them all. There were no more tears left for him to cry. That alone was devastating.

Jonathon cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Shawn."

Shawn's lips quivered, his face not having yet received the message that he had stopped crying. He closed his eyes, as if he were ashamed.

"This is my fault." Jon repented, scanning Shawn's bruised face. "I'm really… I'm gonna make this right. They're going to pay for this, I promise."

Shawn pulled away abruptly, his neck cracking from the sudden jolt. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Jonathon placed his hand on his back and received the same reaction. He had put it into perspective for him. He agreed. He knew Jonathon couldn't protect him. He was wrong for making him think he could.

"I'm sorry." Jonathon repeated, realizing that he should get accustomed to saying it. He strode toward the door and opened it gently, almost believing that if he left him quietly then he would leave him in peace.

"Wait." His voice was raspy and unrecognizable. He kept his back to Jonathon, but his head was lifted, his eyes possibly still closed. "I can't…do this."

Jonathon hesitated, the hospital room beginning to feel more like a jail cell.

"My mind is… my thoughts are… Please, I don't want to think, anymore!"

Jonathon's hand remained on the door knob. He didn't know what to say.

* * *

THINGS ARE UNRAVELLINGGGG...! PLEASE REVIEW :)


	8. Chapter 8

SORRY THIS ONE TOOK SO LONG! i'VE BEEN REALLY BUSY WITH EXAMS. NOT SURE I'LL BE ABLE TO PUBLISH THE NEXT INSTALLMENT FOR A WHILE, SO BARE WITH ME. ONLY A FEW WEEKS UNTIL 4 MONTHS OF FREEDOM!

THANKS SO MUCH FOR YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWS! EACH AND EVERY ONE MEANS SO MUCH, I CHECK PROBABLY JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO FOR A NEW UPDATE HAHA

WARNING: THERE'S A SEX SCENE...

* * *

"Yo, Billy! Get yer butt over here!"

A chubby, ten year old boy lifted his nose from his comic book and released a loud groan in protest. "Ah, c'mon, Uncle Mike. What do ya want now?"

Mike glared at his young nephew. "Not you, Billy John. Yer cousin. Get inside for supper, boy. Yer mama's callin' ya."

As the boy trudged by him, lethargic but still obedient, Mike smiled to himself. He'd raised him up good. He listened to him. He was a good boy and never needed anything but a good talking to and a mean, threatening look from time to time.

Mike never listened to his brother when he told him that "Ya have to whip em up, them kids, when they're still sproutin' or they won't listen to ya." That was Chet's solution to everything. And with everyone. Mike experienced firsthand his brother's short temper. Over the tiniest of things, he would explode, and his poor son was stuck right there at ground zero. He knew what Chet was doing to Shawn. He knew how afraid that boy was of him. It wasn't that hard to miss, especially when he sat curled up on their couch while Mike's wife fought with him. They could yell until they were hoarse, but nothing frightened Shawn enough to send him home.

But there wasn't much he could do. If he reported his brother, not only would he be out of his mind, putting his relationship with his family in jeopardy, putting himself on the hook with the cops for his own wrongdoings, but he'd also have to report most of everyone in the Pink Flamingo trailer park. Those kids had bruises and they weren't from the bullies at school. Oh no. Trailer Park kids were the bullies. And the marks weren't from wallopings they witnessed from the front porch. But what difference could a poor man make?

Mike wasn't just any poor man either. He was a criminal. He'd rip people off, put broken parts in their cars and take parts out to sell, he'd break things and charge them to have it fixed; he'd done it all. However, there was still a difference between him and Chet. He loved kids. He loved his son and he loved his nephew and he'd never lay a finger on either of them. But what exactly did that make him? It didn't excuse his other faults, and therefore it didn't make him a decent man. It was for that reason – the fact that he was not a decent human being – that he was left with this anxiety and indecision.

"Mr. Hunter, my name is Maureen Hill. I am Chet Hunter's attorney."

Mike had been expecting a bill collector or a telemarketer. "What?"

"Mr. Hunter, I'm sure you're aware of your brother's situation – "

"Yer sure, are ya?" He interrupted her.

"Yes. I'm calling in hopes that you'll be willing to testify at Chet's trial."

Mike swallowed hard. He'd never been anywhere near a trial. Not even when his own father went to prison. "When a Hunter gets collared, he's on his own. Why should it be any different for Chet?"

"Because he's innocent." Her voice was matter-of-factly, but shrill in his ear.

Chet wasn't innocent. He'd seen his brother do some unspeakable things to his nephew. _Unspeakable_. So that was that. He couldn't speak of it. "What the hell do you care?" He growled into the mouthpiece. It shouldn't be this difficult for a guilty Hunter to get punished. Chet deserved it. He'd witnessed many of his neighbours get locked up for things they hadn't done, because it was easy to blame the trailer trash over the white collars and even the working class. It was so easy and yet so hard. Why was Shawn still in danger? Better yet, why was Chet exempt from the Hunter curse but not his son?

"I'm going to leave you my number, Sir, and when you've made up your mind you can give me a call." Maureen's voice was condescending. Not disappointed, but like she was lecturing him, as if trying to get a toddler to apologize who was still throwing a fit.

Mike hung up the phone quickly, like he had just overheard something that he wasn't supposed to. He was cornered. It was all thanks to the Hunter curse.

* * *

Jonathon brushed his fingers, gently, across her cheek and carried it slowly down her lean body. He could feel the goose bumps arise on her skin, as he closed his palm around her thigh and ran back up until he reached her waist. She thrust her hips beneath him, her warm body sensational just to gaze at. He leaned in closely after admiring her beauty, her arms around his neck. He kissed her chest, slowly making his way up her neck, paying extra attention to her sensitive spot beneath her chin.

She let out a small moan, entangling her legs with his as she let her hands slide down his muscular chest and beneath his arms to his back. She gripped him tightly, scraping her nails across his skin. She teased him. Her lips slightly opened, nearing closer and closer to his mouth, before edging back when he got too eager. She finally connected. Her lips were like a drug: dangerous, irresistible, relieving, addicting.

"Catherine," he sighed, his breath growing heavier and faster. He was inside her. He couldn't take it. The urge to scream overwhelmed him. When he broke the kiss, his lips widened but what came out was not his voice.

"NO! PLEASE! Dad! Help me! Don't! NOOO! I'm sorry! Please, don't! No! NOOO!"

Jonathon froze. Catherine was still beneath him and he rolled onto his elbow, swinging his feet to the floor. "Shawn?" He fumbled for his shorts on the floor and pulled them on, hopping into the hallway.

"Jon!" Catherine was getting up, but he barely noticed.

In three long strides he was at Shawn's door. It was wide open. He left it open so he could hear him if he called for him. He realized he hadn't properly thought this through as the reciprocal could have also taken place, with Catherine spending the night.

There were three dark figures on top of the bed. It looked as though they were fighting with each other, but they were fighting together. Shawn was beneath them: a fourth figure.

"Hey! HEY!" He was feeling for the light switch on the wall. When he found it, the action was useless for there was no power. There were hands on his shoulders and he couldn't move.

"Jonnn." It was Catherine. Her voice lingered like she had spoken directly into his ear, but Jonathon knew that this was impossible because she was nearly a foot shorter than he. Her hands slid down his shoulders, hugging his biceps. "I can't do this anymore." She whispered and vanished. She was gone.

He hadn't taken his eyes off of the sight in front of him. It wasn't a sight. It was a travesty. Shawn…his kid was being attacked, again. But he was powerless. There was nothing that he could do about it. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't see it. All he could do was endure the sound of his cries in the night.

Jonathon awoke with a jolt. His body was drenched in sweat, his blankets wrapped too tightly around him. They were suffocating him, but taking them off didn't open any airways. He sat upright, breathing heavily, stretching his arm out to the side, the sheets tangling around his wrist. She was gone. Catherine was gone. He opened his eyes. Catherine was never there.

He rolled off the bed, a flash of déjà vu sending something cold through his veins. He stumbled out into the hallway, Shawn's open door making him feel uneasy. What sickened him most was his empty bed. Shawn was gone. Shawn was…at the hospital. Shawn was safe. He could feel his heart start beating in his chest again. It was all a dream.

He turned back to his bedroom, almost chuckling. The humorous part of it all was that he thought Catherine had spent the night. He hadn't been with her in ages. He hadn't been with any woman in ages. He was a father now. He was responsible for someone else besides himself. He couldn't care less about himself.

In his dream, Catherine was disappointed that he left her to check on Shawn. He remembered the disappointment in her voice as if it had actually occurred. It was symbolic. He chose Shawn over himself. He chose Shawn over Catherine. In reality, he knew that she wasn't capable of being so cold. When she'd run into him, she would always ask how he was and how Shawn was. She cared. She admired what he was doing for him. She respected the choice that he made, but clearly she was not happy about it. Never in his life did Jonathon ever suspect that he would turn down the opportunity to be with a beautiful woman to father a kid that wasn't even his. He was a different man now.

* * *

There were very few times in Cory's life that he found himself speechless. This was one of them. His best friend was sick. He was battered. He was someone else entirely. Cory had watched Shawn walk through a glass door, fall out of a tree, walk into a bat in little league, yet he had never seen him cry. He was always so tough and fearless. He looked at pain and injuries as opportunities to become stronger. They were something that he could say that he'd done and he had no regrets.

But beside him wasn't someone that enjoyed getting hurt. The person beside him appeared to hate being broken. He looked miserable, scared, fragile, and he'd probably been this way his whole life, but Cory was too blind to see it.

Cory took the seat next to Shawn's bed and placed a bag filled with candy on the table behind him. "I brought you some stuff." Cory said quietly, afraid of breaking the silence that domineered the entire floor. "Here's some comic books, too." He offered, pushing them onto Shawn's still chest.

He watched him, almost as carefully as Cory watched him. He placed his hands on either side of him and pushed himself upright, the magazine falling onto the mattress. He sat up straight, stretching his neck and releasing a loud groan. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. He had bruises on his neck, his left eye was swollen shut, his lip was cut and his cheeks were a deep purple.

"Shawn-y…" Cory fidgeted in his chair, uncomfortably. "Why didn't you come to my house? I was waiting for you. I knew you were missing and I thought you'd come. You always came. If you had come you'd be okay. Why didn't you?"

Shawn still said nothing. He looked at him, a sadness in his eyes that made it difficult for Cory to remain angry. But he wasn't angry really. He was more hurt than anything.

Cory looked down at his hands in his lap. "We're not really friends, are we?"

Shawn's voice was hoarse. "What? What are you saying? Of course… I mean, don't you want to be?" There was no confidence at all in his speech as he finished.

"_You_ don't!" Cory yelled suddenly, which wasn't his intention.

Shawn shook at his raised tone and Cory began to feel guilty.

"But then again," he tried more gently. "Do you even know what it means to have an honest relationship with a person?"

Shawn shrugged so quickly it was as if it were instinctive.

"What did they do to you, Shawn-y?" Cory grimaced, imagining but truly unable to imagine the horrors his friend was forced through.

"Cor." Shawn raised his hand, slowly, to his head and pushed his bangs back, revealing a bandage across his forehead. "I'm sorry. I wish I were different. You deserve better, you know."

Cory frowned. "You can't blame yourself."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is. I can't even pretend now. I'm just someone's used up old garbage and everyone knows it. I'd rather die."

"You're not!" The unsettling feeling in Cory's stomach was worsening. "You know when you told me you hadn't gone all the way with a girl yet? That you're still technically a virgin?"

Shawn almost smiled. "Oh my god. Don't!"

"Well, that's still true. It doesn't count. What they did to you doesn't matter, Shawn."

"It does." He said quietly, sliding down until his head rested on the pillows. "They took that, too. I've got nothing left."

"What?" Cory stood up and moved closer to the bed, trying to regain Shawn's attention. "What does that even mean?"

Shawn looked up at him, biting his lip. "It means… if you're really my friend, you'll help me die."

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW! I USUALLY WAIT TO HEAR PEOPLE'S FEEDBACK BEFORE I WRITE THE NEXT CHAPTER. AT THIS POINT I'M WAY BEYOND WRITING THIS JUST FOR MYSELF SO YOUR OPINION SURELY DOES MATTER!

THANKS FOR STICKING WITH ME! XOXO MEG


	9. Chapter 9

GEEZ YOU GUYS MADE ME FEEL BAD! I DECIDED I HAD TO GIVE YOU SOMETHING, SO THIS IS WHAT I THREW TOGETHER. STILL 1 MORE WEEK OF EXAMS...

ENJOY!

* * *

"Jonathon!" Alan called, having been craning his neck, scanning the hallway.

"Hi, Alan." Jonathon yawned as he approached, not even nearly sharing the energy of the man.

"I've been dying to talk to you. I brought Cory over to see Shawn. He's in there now. How is he?"

Jonathon raised his eyebrows. "He's in there now?" His head snapped toward the door. "Have you been watching? He hasn't been reacting well to visitors." _Or anyone, _he added to himself.

"Yeah, I mean… well, no, but it's Cory. They've been friends since they were in diapers. If anyone's going to get through to him…" His voice trailed off as Jonathon moved toward the door, peering through the rectangular window that ran down the side.

"As long as he doesn't punch him in the face again, right?" He spoke icily. He wasn't angry with him. He was exhausted. He was out of his element. He was just talking and some of it he understood what it meant. Only some of it, which was not unlike the situation he was facing.

Alan was fiddling with his keys in his pocket. When Jonathon returned his focus, he saw that he had also been attracted to the window. It was exquisite. It was like magic. The way it separated hope from despair, normalcy from insanity, possibility from death. It was a buffer between his new life as a father and his old life as a childless bachelor; between yesterday and today. Jonathon could turn back and go home to his apartment. He could open up his address book and call whoever he wanted. He could do whatever he used to do, but that wouldn't change anything. His apartment would still be Shawn's home. Every choice he made since he began to turn his back on his fathers' wishes became his ultimate choice to adopt Shawn. When he left home at 18, he was looking for something different. When he became a teacher he was looking to help kids that were just a little more confused than he. When he became Shawn's teacher and gave him his address to hand in an assignment on a weekend, he was hoping to be opened up to a world more messed up than his. And that's exactly what occurred. He opened up multiple Pandora's boxes. He was searching for it. He was playing with fire and not expecting to get burned. He had opened up multiple doors, but as he stared at this one, a bridge between today and yesterday, childhood and adulthood, he couldn't bring himself to do it. It wasn't booby-trapped, but it was in fact a catalyst to disaster – the first he was able to foresee.

"What did they do to him?" Alan's voice was deep and malice.

Jonathon rolled his eyes back, forcing a place for the moisture in his eyes. "They, uh…they raped him." He tightened his chin and nodded, a sarcastic acceptance of such obscenity.

Alan's face tensed. His forehead creased as a frown formed on his face, but his eyes widened portraying both shock and fear. He released a shaky breath, clearly hearing what he had feared most. "No." He gasped, in disbelief and shook his head. "Why? Who?"

"He won't tell us." Jonathon put his hand on the wall and leaned on it, appearing virile when he felt anything but. "Fractured ribs, broken cheek bone, concussion. They have him terrified. They have him thinking there's nothing he can do to stop it. They've threatened him, they've…destroyed him."

"What have the doctors said?"

"They want to keep him for a while. They diagnosed him with moderate hypothermia. They're treating him with warm intravenous fluids and warming blankets and they said its okay now." Jonathon's voice was quiet and monotone. He was still in shock despite it occurring 36 hours prior.

"Are _you_ okay?"

He shook his head.

Alan reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what to do. I can help."

He shook his head again. "Do you think Cory's done? I need to see him."

"Yeah, go ahead! I wasn't trying to keep you from him."

Jonathon bowed his head and stepped over the threshold of choices. Some choices aren't real choices. Sometimes both options are poison.

Shawn laid motionless, his head was turned and wore a look directed at Cory that was both severe and intent. Both boys either ignored or were absent to the fact of Jonathon's entrance.

He crossed the room to the far side of the bed, noticing Cory's gaze was just as somber. His face shone and at second glance Jonathon realized that he was crying. "Matthews…" Jonathon pulled back. "What's going on?"

He stuttered. "I'm good, too. Have a good night!" He waved, sending Shawn one last look before he bolted from the room.

"It's ten o' clock in the morning." He told his memory, the door having already slammed shut. He looked down at Shawn who was watching the door, just as he had been. "Hey." He placed his hand on the boy's forehead, pushing back his bangs as he ran his hand over his hair. "How are you feeling?" When he ignored him, he bent down and kissed his head, gently, careful not to upset the stitches above his brow.

He pulled up a chair and sat, as he surveyed him. He looked even thinner. His body was like a skeleton, as small, as white, and as fragile. "What was that about, buddy?"

He shrugged, refusing to even look at him.

Jonathon sighed. "I could ignore this." He was thinking out loud. "But then what would we talk about? I guess I've got a lot of questions for you. I would probably start –"

"Just leave me alone!" Shawn growled, finally returning his gaze, though his was hostile.

"Are you mad at me? Shawn, I told you I'd stay last night, but you insisted."

"It's not about that!" He whined, his cut lips flaccid.

Jonathon stood up and jiggled the bed rails until something clicked and they folded down. He sat on the edge of the mattress and grasped the opposite rail, more for the purpose of comfort then for balance. "What's it about?"

His brow furrowed and his lips began to tremble.

"Hey," said Jonathon softly. "Don't cry. Just talk to me." He reached out and cupped his face in his hand, not wanting him to shut down. "Just talk to me."

Shawn pressed his lips together. It must have hurt. "You're the only thing…"

Jonathon cocked his head and waited.

"When you're not around…" He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Never mind."

"Come here." He said, holding out his arms. He helped him sit upright then hugged the boy. As the kid rested his head on his shoulder, he stroked his small back, carefully. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'll stay right here."

His breathing had just finally evened when there was a knock at the door and Nicky's face appeared in the window. He motioned him toward the door, in which he tried to ignore but felt compelled to comply. "One second, buddy." He said, pulling away and easing him backward, guiding his head back to his pillows.

Shawn nodded, but the look on his face portrayed hurt and dissatisfaction.

"What do you want?" He hissed, slipping through the doorway and allowing it to close swiftly behind him.

"It's important."

Jonathon felt a muscle in his eye twitch. "It better damn well be."

"It's about Chet. You've gotta know." Nicky looked ill.

"What?"

He took a deep breath. "He's bringing his case to trial. He _changed his mind_ or something."

Jonathon felt the wind being knocked out of him. "What? Can…can he do that? I thought he confessed and took a plea?"

"He did, but…"

"But what?"

"He's claiming he was forced to do so."

Jonathon grabbed the wall for support. "By who?"

"By…me."

* * *

If he closed his eyes he could still see the building. Things look much taller when lying on the ground. He could feel the snow, the ice, the numbness, and then the pain. He had come so close, but the fence…he had forgotten about the fence.

Then in the ambulance. The panic he felt, his racing mind, the rapid voices speaking gibberish; every foreign word intimidating, terrifying. Everything hurt: some things more than others. An ache in his hands standing out in his memory, two large hands in his tight grasp. He was shaking violently. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight them.

He couldn't scream when he wanted to. Although, he knew that he had. They were taking off his clothes. The warm hands between his removed themselves and suddenly were wrapping something heated around his naked body. The numbness set in and the ache of his skin slowly subsided. And then these hands held him. He loved these hands.

But then he'd open his eyes again. Hands weren't for holding when he regained himself. Hands punched him and broke him and forced things inside him. Hands cut him and dragged him and restrained him. Hands were better left kept to themselves. They destroyed him.

Everyday people use different techniques to fill voids inside them: alcohol, a familiar friend of his father's, and gambling, which was also not estrange to the Hunter family. But Shawn's seemed to be Jonathon. When he was with him, Shawn felt safe, normal, relaxed. It was like his mind was running a mile a minute and Jonathon was the only one who could make it stop. But Jonathon couldn't always be there. Without him, he would be wondering what was around every corner, when they'd attack next, how many, how much it will hurt, how much they will take, and if there would be a time after that. Or would they finally just put him out of his misery.

His plan would put an end to all of the questions, the uncertainties, the pain, the suffering, the frustration, and the feelings of desecration, emptiness, and fear. He could finally rest. And not only that, but for the first time in his calamitous life, he could have peace. He could rest in peace.

* * *

HOPE YOU LIKED IT! THANKS FOR ALL YOUR REVIEWS! IT'S SO GREAT EVEN HEARING YOUR REACTIONS TO HAVING TO WAIT A COUPLE WEEKS. ARE YOU DEDICATED OR WHAT? WISH I HAD THAT EFFECT ON MEN. HAHA

ANYWAYS, THANKS SO MUCH! STAY TUNED!

AND

REVIEW!


	10. Chapter 10

SORRY THIS ONE TOOK SO LONG! I WAS HAVING SOME TROUBLE WRITING IT AND IF YOU READ IT I THINK YOU'LL REALIZE WHY. WELL, THAT AND THE FACT THAT I'M FINALLY FINISHED EXAMS AND WRITING WAS THE LAST THING I WANTED TO DO... BUT I'M BACK! AND THANKS FOR ALL OF YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWS! I, OF COURSE, PLAN ON FINISHING THIS STORY EVEN IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO! I DON'T REALLY WANT IT TO END THOUGH. I LOOK FORWARD AND I HAVE ALL THESE NEW IDEAS AND NO REAL ENDING IN MIND. WE'LL SEE WHERE THIS GOES.

ENJOY!

* * *

"Shawn, you can't be serious!" Cory had exclaimed, eyeing his stick figure of a friend.

"I've never had a more serious thought in my life, Cor." Shawn said quietly, laying stiffly in his bed. "I need to do this."

Cory pleaded, "No, you don't! You can get through this. It won't always be this bad. I can help."

Shawn glowered at him. "You have no idea what this is like. I can't live with this pain. Everything hurts and most of it's on the inside. And it's just searing pain and no medicine will make it go away." His voice was exasperated and it seemed like he should've been yelling, but he wasn't. His voice, despite the words that it contained, was indifferent. "They're gonna kill me, anyway. They know I talked to the cops. I can't… I'm not going through that again, okay? I won't."

"You don't have to! Come on, Shawn-y…" Cory's voice cracked. "Don't think this way. If you just tell the cops everything, they'll put them all away and they won't be able to hurt you. Mr. Turner will protect you, and… please, Shawn. You're my best friend. Don't do this!" He felt tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn't care. Every little bit could help Shawn change his mind.

"Cor, I'm not like you. I have a mom who doesn't give two shits about me. She left me to get my head cracked open against the sidewalk by my dad. The same dad who let his own stepson rape me. The same half-brother who let his friends kick my teeth in and…" He paused as he noticed Cory's sobbing. "It means something. That I'm nothing. And I don't wanna be nothing anymore, so I'm going to change that."

"By ending your life? You aren't nothing! Those people are nothing! They're scum! Everyone else in your life knows you're an amazing person! You're cool and popular and I've always wanted to be like you. What about my parents? They've always thought of you as a son! And Mr. Turner? He's like your dad, now! He loves you and you love him! Don't blow this because of a bunch of lowlife pieces of crap!" His body shook with rage, his own voice lethal.

The look on Shawn's face reflected the apathy that he feigned, for his eyes revealed the insufferable pain that he described. "They broke me, Cor. I'm broken and I can't be fixed. I don't wanna feel this way anymore. Please, just…help me make it go away!"

Cory released a loud sob, as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. "But I need you! I can't. You mean too much to me to let you go through with this!"

Shawn grimaced, as if he had just insulted him. He looked around the room, his eyes resting on the door. "What would you do…if it were you?

"I'd know I have my best friend to count on!" Cory slammed his fist down against the bedrail.

Shawn nodded. "And so do I."

The door creaked as Jonathon swung it open, drowning out his final decision. "Okay." But Shawn understood him.

It took everything in him not to tell his father immediately after leaving the room. He had every opportunity, especially with the way he kept pressing him, asking if he was alright. He knew something was off. Perhaps it was just the condition of the situation, which did give Cory something to hide behind, but it felt like more than that. It always felt like his parents could see right through him when he was lying, but in this case, transparency was something to avoid. Once Cory allowed himself to shut down, he could see his friend's pain. When this was through, he would find a way to deal with his own pain.

He'd spent the night wide awake. The only thing keeping him from bursting into hysteria was Eric's soft snoring from the bed beside him, reminding him how to breathe. He desperately conjured up schemes to change Shawn's mind, but his imagination made that seem impossible.

Shawn had been through too much. He kept envisioning his friend's numerous attacks, each time growing more vivid and more violent. Each time he lost a reason to force someone who'd been through that to stay alive.

Cory dragged himself out of bed the very moment that the sun had risen. He moved like a zombie, unsure how exactly he had arrived at the hospital, but knowing his plan had been to take the bus. He found himself pacing outside Shawn's hospital room, a nurse having let him into the ward without a second thought as to why he was there so early. Through the window, he saw that Shawn was still sleeping. He'd let him rest, hoping that his time in the oblivion would show him some new kind of light.

* * *

Nicky sat idle in his car, the movement only occurring in his head. He wanted to storm through the gates of the prison and knock a couple heads together, two he had particularly in mind. But it would do little good and he had no business being there. Still the thought of beating some sense into two monsters that destroyed the life of a young boy, felt satisfying. It felt right. This case hit too close to home. He felt powerless to rage and violence.

He sighed. It wasn't right. The timing, nor the action itself. He was already close to losing his badge and he needed this job more than he needed to breathe. He turned on his left turning signal and eased his foot off of the brake pedal, pulling away from the Philadelphia jail. He slammed on the brake abruptly, a woman in a blue suit having jumped in front of his car.

"Easy there, tiger!" She yelled, slapping the hood with her palm.

"What the hell ya doing?" He hung his arm out the window, his heart restarting in his chest.

She grinned, moving toward the driver's side. "Trying to run over the attorney of your suspect, Detective? I thought you were a little better than that."

He rolled his eyes. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"You're right, I knew you weren't better than that."

He scoffed. "Well, Maureen Hill, those who defend the scum of the earth aren't much different than road kill, so…" He flashed her a smile, then turned his attention forward, hoping to leave her presence sooner rather than later.

"Oh, Nicholas…"

"It's Nicky, actually."

"Nicholas." She corrected him with a smirk. "How does it feel to be wrong? You put so much into this case and to have it blow up in your face? That must sting a little, right?"

"Wow, you're a little over confident, don't you think? What judge is going to believe some trailer trash nutcase over a battered boy? Not to mention the evidence against him."

She placed her forearms on the ledge of his window, giving Nicky no choice but to lean back in his seat. "Well, not many would, except they would however believe him over a boy who is a depressed sociopath, whose injuries were self-inflicted."

Nicky could feel his blood boiling in his veins. "Are you serious?! _You_ are the sociopath, here, if you are honestly willing to turn this around on an innocent kid! Don't you think he's been through enough? Are you aware of the other charges he's pressing? You're just going to keep punishing him?"

She straightened up and placed her hands on her hips. "I guess you haven't heard, then."

"Heard what?" He snapped, leaning toward her, dangerously.

Her tight lips slanted upwards at the corners. "Shawn Hunter phoned Chet. He apologized to him, told him it was all his fault, and that Chet was right, that he should never have said anything, and he was begging for his forgiveness."

Nicky blinked, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed her smug face. "You're lying."

She crossed her arms proudly. "I kid you not."

"Why the hell would he do that? He's already told us everything. He's shown us the proof! We have a confession, and you have nothing. But nice try, though, Councillor. Even if Chet really did tell you that, he's full of shit, and no one would buy that."

"I'm not an idiot, Nicholas." She said, condescendingly. "Shawn sent me a confession and signed it, stating all the same things. The kid was lying."

Nicky turned off the car and nearly jumped out. "Lying? And so what, he's also making up how he was molested by his half-brother? Do you realize he's in the hospital right now, being nursed back to health after almost dying of hypothermia? That is, if the fact that being beaten senselessly and gang raped had nothing to do with it. If he truly did send you that letter, then it's because after all of the abuse he's been through, he's now emotionally unstable. I've seen him, he's not in the mental state to be making such serious decisions."

"Wow, you should've been a defense lawyer!" She exhaled, the grin falling from her face. "All that matters is that he sent it. I'll admit it. I had no case before, but I do now. Shawn must have known what he was doing, because Chet _will_ go free."

Nicky shook his head. "But why would he do that? After everything he put him through, he's got to know that Chet will surely go after him the moment he gets out."

"Unless Chet isn't violent and Shawn was lying." She smiled again, but this time it just made Nicky feel nauseous.

"Or he didn't plan on being here when he was cut loose. Shit!" He jumped back into his car and waved Maureen out of the way as he started up his engine. Before he pulled away, he hollered at her. "When abouts did you get the letter from Shawn?"

She frowned, confusion falling over her face. "This morning. It was given to my secretary."

"By who?" He pressed her, his hands beginning to shake.

"Some kid!"

"Cory." He said to himself, as he sped off toward the hospital.

* * *

"Shawn, please, just rethink this for a second. In a few months, things will have blown over and you can move on."

"Cory, you can't talk me out of this. Are you gonna help me, like you promised, or not?"

Cory swallowed. "What do you want me to do?"

Shawn pulled himself upright and swung his legs, carefully, over the side of the bed. "Jonathon's not coming until noon, so that gives us a couple of hours. Just go out into the hall and grab a wheelchair. There's a whole bunch at the end of the hall."

Cory frowned, his heart beginning to race. "Why do you need a wheelchair?"

"Because I can't walk on my own. My ribs hurt too much. Just do it, okay?"

He hesitated. Shawn had been planning this, likely for a lot longer than he admitted to Cory.

When he returned with the wheelchair, Shawn continued. "We'll take the back elevator up to the roof. That way no one will see us and it's perfect because it's the only one that goes up that far." He thought out loud. Looking at Cory, he said: "I need you to help me into the wheelchair."

Cory rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, awkwardly, still across the room from Shawn. "Wh-why do you need to go up to the roof?"

Shawn sent him a look, but it read more helpless than intimidating.

"Shawn, I don't like this."

"You promised!" He gritted his teeth together. "So, you're just gonna abandon me, now, too? You're the same as everyone else! You don't give a shit about me or what I want! You don't even care!"

Cory could feel the tears welling in his eyes. "Yes I do! I _do_ care about you! I don't want you to die, Shawn-y. Please, don't do this! Think about me and my family and Jonathon. We love you! We don't want to lose you!"

Other than a twitch of a muscle beneath his eye, Shawn's face was completely still. There wasn't a sign of emotion or hope. He was giving into his pain now, but Cory could see that he had given up on surviving long ago. "I'm never going to be happy again, except for this. If you really love me, then prove it. Make me happy just one last time."

* * *

Nicky weaved through traffic, viciously. Fighting to get from one side of town to the other never seemed more difficult, even during rush hour. He grabbed for the built in phone in his car, it taking three tries before he actually had it in his hand.

Shawn wasn't trying to repair his relationship with his father. He wasn't trying to bring him back into his life. Shawn was terrified of him. Ever since Nicky had taken him to visit Chet in jail, Shawn had shown no further interest in ever seeing him again. No, Shawn was saying goodbye. He was patching up loose ends before he did something drastic.

"Turner, I don't know where the hell you are, but you better get to the hospital, NOW! Shawn's gonna hurt himself" _if he hasn't already. _"I'm on my way there, now. Don't try to call me back, just get there, alright?" He slammed the phone down in the receiver and picked it back up, dialing his partner. If he wasn't going to make it, somebody had to. Someone had to be there to save this kid from himself. If not from the many others who had hurt him, then at least from himself.

* * *

THANKS FOR READING! DON'T FORGET TO **REVIEW!** MAYBE IF YOU HAVE SOME IDEAS I MIGHT BE ABLE TO INCORPORATE THEM. I HAVE TAKEN YOUR OPINIONS AND WRITTEN WITH THEM IN MIND AND I KNOW YOU ALL LIKE JONATHON/SHAWN MOMENTS, SO DON'T WORRY, THERE ARE DEFINITELY MORE TO COME!

STAY TUNED!


	11. Chapter 11

SORRY THIS ONE TOOK SO LONG! I'M FINDING IT SO DIFFICULT TO SIT DOWN AND WRITE SINCE SCHOOL HAS ENDED. I'VE ALSO BEEN WORKING A LOT, SO I APOLOGIZE. I KNOW YOU GUYS ARE INTO THIS, WHICH I AM NOT TAKING FOR GRANTED, BUT PLEASE TRY TO UNDERSTAND HOW DIFFICULT IT'S BECOMING. BETWEEN THIS STORY AND ITS MOTHER (SLEEPWALKING HUNTER) THAT IS 44 CHAPTERS IN 9 MONTHS... IT'S MY BABY! (THAT'S LITERALLY THE DURATION OF A PREGNANCY!) I'VE NEVER WRITTEN ANYTHING THAT LONG IN MY LIFE! AND YOU'VE ALL BEEN SO GREAT WITH YOUR FOLLOWING AND REVIEWING! I REMEMBER NOT EVEN EXPECTING ANY REVIEWS AT ALL WHEN I WROTE THAT FIRST CHAPTER.

ANYWAYS, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE!

* * *

Nicky double-parked his small corolla in the hospital parking lot, fumbling for the keys in the ignition. He sprinted toward the entrance, calling out for a woman to hold the elevator who had just stepped in. She hesitated and the doors closed with Nicky not ten feet away. He growled, searching for an alternative.

He leaped up the stairs two at a time, gathering momentum as he climbed. He'd been through this before. This wouldn't be his first victim who gave up the will to live and he wasn't about to let it happen again. He couldn't stand to watch Shawn – after all he'd been through – eternally bury himself in this mess.

There was something different about this kid. Right from the moment he met him, he felt a little bit more reason to help him, and since then he'd been wrapped around his little finger. He was meant to help him, and if he came out a little stronger in the end, then he was just killing two birds with one stone.

He blew through the door on the third floor, nearly running into Chris who was getting off the elevator. "You just get here?" He was too panicked for complete sentences.

"About ten minutes. He's not in his room and I searched every floor." Chris' voice was stern, but calm. Nicky admired his cool head in situations like these, especially since Nicky was usually bouncing off the walls, his impatience getting the better of him.

"Shit. Is Turner here?"

"Not that I know of." Chris tapped his shoulder and started down the hallway. "Check the room one more time."

"Maybe one of the nurses saw him." Nicky stopped dead in his tracks, spotting a boy with dark curly hair at the end of the hallway. "Cory!" He called to him, but the boy's face was blank, his eyes cast down.

"He's thirsty. I've gotta get him a drink before it's too late." Cory muttered, speeding passed him.

Nicky grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back. "What are you talking about? Where is he?"

Chris turned around, his eyes narrowing as he approached them.

"Where's Shawn?" He shook him. "Come on. We've got to help him, right?"

* * *

It was cold up there. The wind tossed his hair in his eyes, but he barely cared to push it away. He was comfortable, however; sitting on the wall guarding the platform from the ground that was just ten quick stories below. This wall was like a barrier to his happiness. This wall could have easily been the very wall that was in his way his entire life, stopping him from finding happiness. He could never climb over it. He could never quite jump high enough to see over it but he knew it was there. Well, now he was on top of it. He was conquering the borderline of his success. He wasn't chasing it, anymore. It wasn't just a few steps ahead every time. He was right on top and there was nothing stopping him from getting what he wanted this time.

He leaned forward, a pain in his abdomen shooting through him and a blackness appearing before his eyes. He yelped, grasping the ledge beside him, until the fog disappeared and he could see clearly again. Broken ribs weren't going to control him anymore. All that he suffered through wasn't going to determine where he was going. No. He was going to do it on his own merit, when he was good and ready.

He sat up straighter and stretched his arms out to either side. The wind whisked passed him, brushing over his cold skin and grabbed at each bit of him. He was at peace here. There were no problems between him and the wind, no breach of personal space, no violence, and no fear. Here his only opponent was the cool April wind and she merely danced for him and his well-earned bliss.

"Hi, Shawn." An unwelcomed voice sang, interrupting the restless chorus in his ears.

He shuffled forward, daringly. No one was going to ruin his happiness.

"How are you, buddy?"

"You're out of tune." He told him, growing angry at his presence. "So this is what you do, Cor? I ask you one favour in our entire fuckin' friendship and you sell me down the river?" He peered over his shoulder, finding his friend standing in the doorway, Nicky and his partner edging closer. "Stay away!" He yelled, clutching the railing and pulling himself, painfully, to his feet.

"Take it easy! We won't come any closer." Nicky held up his hands, resembling defeat.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "It won't work. You can't stop me. I've made up my mind." He looked down at the ground below him and took a deep breath.

"Can't stop you from doing what, Shawn?" Chris' voice was shaky. "Let's just talk for a minute."

"No! Go away! Just let me do this!" His insides were screaming in protest. His mind was protesting Nicky's distraction, but his body was protesting his own obstinacy.

"Shawn, you don't have to do this! You don't have to give up!" He sounded frantic.

"YES! I do!"

He heard movement. "No! That's just what they want you to do. What they did to you – your dad and those idiots – that's over, Shawn. We're working to make sure that never happens to you again. But what you're doing, right now? You're cutting them a break that they don't deserve. You're giving them a way to get away with what they did and do it again to other people. That's what they want! You can't see it now, but they're still controlling you, Shawn."

There was more movement and Shawn noticed Nicky in his peripheral, as he had stepped up to only a few feet away. "You don't know anything! Stay away from me!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice screeching.

"Shawn, please don't do this!" It was a different voice that begged him, sounding along with a slam and a squeak. His head snapped toward the voice in alarm, just enough to catch Jonathon hastening before the door.

The pounding of Jonathon's heart reminded him of standing close by a concert speaker. His whole body shook from the angry drumming that was vibrating through his veins. "Come on, kid. We can get through this! I promise it'll get better." But he didn't really know this. He had been making that same promise since the beginning and this is where it led them: on the roof of a ten story building.

He was surrounded by four people who hadn't a clue of what to do. Jonathon was speaking for himself, however. Himself and sobbing Cory who was cowering by the door.

Shawn was shivering. "You're not supposed to be here!" He told him, his white knuckles clutching onto the side rail in vexation rather than for dear life.

"Of course, I'm gonna be here, Shawn. I'm always gonna be here for you. Always!" He gasped, wandering closer.

The boy's hospital gown blew in the wind and would've shot open had it not been doubled around his waist, as it was a few sizes too big. It whipped against his thighs, brandishing an angry bruise along the backs of his skinny legs. His knees shook, struggling under his weight and betraying his ability to give into it. He was too weak to die. "No, you won't! You're ruining everything! _Please, _just go _away_!" He cried, turning his back on them once more.

"Come on, pal. You know that's not gonna happen." Jonathon stepped to the side trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

"Shawn, I get it, alright?" Nicky tried, as Jonathon held his breath. "You know, I didn't see this coming, but I would have for anyone else. Whether you go through with this or not, you are still the strongest person I know."

Shawn, looking downward, shook his head, the wind smothering his disbelieving laugh. "You're… just saying that."

Nicky was at the railing now, with just one reach he could have grabbed Shawn, but he didn't. He kept on talking. "It's true. In your position, I would've given up a long time ago." He bowed his head. "Which is why I never told anyone."

Shawn looked at him, a frown easily spotted on his face. "You're lying."

"I wish I was." Jonathon saw him steal a quick look at Chris before he continued. "I was thirteen when my hockey coach started abusing me in the locker room. I never told anyone because I was scared of what he'd do to me, but mostly because of what everyone would think of me. I thought it was my fault. He told me that and I believed him…for a really long time." He wiped a hand across his forehead through his short hair, somehow pushing sweat passed the cold breeze.

Shawn stood motionless, his shaking ceased and a look of engrossment upon his face. He said nothing.

Chris shifted next to Jonathon, who watched Nicky with a combination of hurt and confusion, legitimizing his claims. They were all taken aback.

"And, you know, this guy really wasn't that big. I was just this scrawny little thing, then, but it didn't stop me from feeling pathetic. And every day since then I've felt pathetic."

Shawn spat. "What does this have to do with me?" A smirk spread across his face, but his eyes were glazed with tears, embodying a small grain of trust. Beneath the surface was a trace of hope.

"It has everything to do with you, Shawn!" Nicky raised his voice. "Think about it! What I did all those years is what you wanted to do. It's what you tried to do. And look where it got me? I'm obsessed with this kind of hurt…_our_ kind of hurt. I look at every one of my cases and the victims who had the balls to stand up for themselves and I wish I had done the same. There isn't a day that that doesn't torture me!"

Shawn put a hand over his heart, as if trying to feel his pulse. He slid it down over his ribs, gently gracing his fingers over each. "No." He speculated. "_I _was tortured."

"Me, too. He bled me out. He, um… He took a piece of me and I never got it back." Nicky cleared his throat, never removing his eyes from Shawn.

Shawn pointed downward with the hand furthest away. "You wanna jump, too?" He asked, sarcastically.

Nicky didn't miss a beat. "But you know what? Because I never did anything about it, that bastard got away with what he did to me, which gave him the opportunity to do it to others. And now he's gone. He's dead and I have to live with that. But Shawn, you…" He reached, holding out his hand almost hopeful for Shawn to take it. "You have a chance to make sure these guys don't do this again to someone else. You can be a hero. You can save someone from going through what you went through. But if not…they get their way. They already had their way with you, Shawn."

"Shut up." Shawn hissed at the obvious pun.

"You don't think they've thought this through? With you gone, they're free! And you? You'll be forever imprisoned in this hell you've been living in. This is your chance to fight back. This is your path to freedom, Shawn."

"I don't wanna be free, I just want these voices to stop! All these feelings and all this PAIN!" His voice echoed loudly. "You know what it's like?" He asked Nicky. "None of it's gone away, has it?"

"Shawn, please!" Jonathon heard himself begging. He didn't know where Nicky was going. He was patient. Every second Shawn spent on that wall was a second more of his torture.

Nicky stuttered, clearly losing his cool, which only made Jonathon more uneasy. "That's not what I meant. I mean…" He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I never told anyone and that didn't make me better. I didn't let myself heal. You can! Shutting down won't help you! I can help you: someone who knows."

There were tears on Shawn's face and Jonathon wasn't sure exactly when they arrived there. He was grasping the railing with both hands now, short and broken breaths being taken through his opened mouth. "I just don't wanna do this anymore!"

Nicky placed his hand on top of both of Shawn's. "I guess it's time we play a new game, then."

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW YOU GUYS! I APPRECIATE THOSE OF YOU WHO REVIEWED THIS TIME BUT HAVEN'T BEFORE, AND OF COURSE MY TRUSTY AVID REVIEWERS. IT'S NICE TO KNOW THERE'S MORE THAN JUST THE SAME FEW READING. :)

... I'VE BEEN WONDERING...WHAT WERE YOU THINKING WHEN YOU FOUND THIS STORY FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME AND CLICKED ON IT? WERE YOU JUST GIVING ANY NEW STORY A CHANCE OR DID YOU LIKE MY DESCRIPTION? DID YOU EXPECT TO LIKE IT? I BET YOU CERTAINLY DIDN'T EXPECT TO STILL BE READING IT 9 MONTHS LATER!

THANKS FOR GIVING ME A CHANCE! :)

stay tuned! You'll know when it's over...


	12. Chapter 12

HEY! JUST WANTED TO SAY THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR GREAT REVIEWS! SO TOUCHING! I GET SO EXCITED WHEN I GET A NEW ONE. I THINK YOU GUYS ARE TOO NICE. ANYWAYS, THIS CHAPTER IS PRETTY SHORT COMPARED TO THE REST, BUT I HAD TO GIVE YOU SOMETHING. I DON'T FEEL LIKE I ENDED THE LAST CHAPTER THE WAY I REALLY WANTED. IT WAS KIND OF RUSHED BECAUSE IT HAD BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'D UPDATED THAT I HURRIED THROUGH AND JUST PUT SOMETHING AT THE END. SO THIS IS WHERE IT WAS HEADED AND PROBABLY WHAT I WOULD'VE PUT IN, HAD I TAKEN THE TIME.

PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! I'M SO THANKFUL FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO DO EVERY CHAPTER. IT'S NICE TO KNOW SOMEONE'S READING, WHEREVER YOU ARE. :)

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT!

* * *

Nicky's mind was racing. Why did he do that? Why did he tell him that? How was he ever going to go on now that his secret was out? But he had a really good answer for each of those questions. The same answer and it applied to each and he would do it again and again because of that really good reason. He may have just saved Shawn's life.

Shawn was holding on to the rail cemented into the wall, which he stood, as if it were keeping him in place.

And then, belatedly, Nicky realized that it was.

Shawn's knees were shaking, bent so low that his gown draped over his shins, frisking the circumference of his legs in the wind. He coughed and spluttered, his lips quivering too aggressively for Nicky to realize that he was trying to speak.

"I c-can't-t… I can't-t do this!" The last two words were higher pitched, a squeaky-like sound reverberating from the back of his throat.

In a blink, Jonathon was at the wall, claiming a firm hold on Shawn's ankle. Jonathon was pale and his eyes bulged, suggesting that he was acting without thinking and had no real understanding of what was going on.

"Please, just come down, Shawn!" Jonathon pleaded, tugging desperately at the shaking boy.

"No! Please, stop!" Shawn cried, his eyes shut tightly and eyelashes sifting through tears.

Nicky put his hand on Jonathon's wrist, finding no other way to express what he was trying to say. "Jon, don't. You'll make him fall." He tried to disguise his words under his breath.

He let go instantly, releasing a moan of desperation, the reaction of lost control. "Just get him down!" Jonathon ordered, which would have pissed him off had he not wanted it just as bad.

He was just as frustrated as Jonathon was.

He placed both his hands on the railing, his foot jammed between the spindles that were injected into the cement. He pulled himself onto the wall, sitting on the metal and swinging his legs over the side.

Shawn watched him with a look of betrayal on his face, but he didn't edge away from him. His body didn't want this. Only his stubbornness and hopelessness did.

Nicky shimmied across the wall, holding on tightly and reminding himself not to look down each bit of the way. Heights weren't his favourite. And through his panic he noted that if he were to ever take his life this way would not be how he'd go.

He pressed his body against the railing as he reached the end and braced himself for a fight. His foot courageously wandered a place with no supporting spindle and then his other until he was merely clutching the railing to his side. He was feet away from his only crutch on this ten story building, his arm spread out for Shawn as a statue came to mind.

"Don't bother." Shawn choked, appearing to have lost all of the fight that was in him. He swayed back in forth, taunting him, his own arms blowing behind him in the wind.

He caught Chris' eye as he loosened his grip on the railing, Shawn just barely out of reach. He quickly looked away, the darkness in his partner's eyes gave him a glimpse of what he had to face when he came out of this. If he came out of this.

Jonathon was on his toes, his hands folded behind his neck in anxiety. He was shaking his head, whether in disbelief or absent fidgeting, his whole body shook.

Nicky's fingers skimmed his shoulder and Shawn let out a wail in response.

Finally finding it in him to release his hold on the banister, he grasped both of Shawn's shoulders in his hands. "Don't fight me. Don't fight me." He prayed aloud.

"No! Just let me die!" His yelling was amplified in the long courtyard below, the echo shooting back just as fierce.

"Hey!" Nicky bellowed, filling with anger as though the kid were dense. "Look at me! You go, we both go! C'mon don't do that to me, buddy."

The moment Shawn finally met his gaze and stopped fighting him, Nicky gave Shawn a shove backward. He grabbed Nicky for support, pulling him with him. He fell onto the gravel with a crunch. Nicky was on top of him with his knees bent to prevent his weight from crushing him. He rolled to the side onto his back, into Chris' boot.

"Shawn! Hey. Hey! It's okay!" Jonathon was on his knees next to Shawn before Nicky had a chance to gather his thoughts. He slid his hand under his head and lifted it to his shoulder where he held him, cradling him in his arms. "I got you. You're going to be okay."

* * *

There were tears streaming down his cheeks, almost racing each other to his chin. His fingers were curled as they reached for Jonathon and clutched his shirt as he turned into him. "I don't know how to be okay."

Jonathon's heart broke. He smoothed his hand over the boy's hair, his nose pressed against Jonathon's shoulder as he sobbed. "I'll show you." He decided.

He wasn't going to let him suffer anymore. He wasn't going to lose him.

"Shawn?" The voice was small and insecure to Jonathon's ear.

That was of course compared to the excitement and desperation that was circulating in his mind. But Cory's voice reflected his uncertainty, his inexperience, his premature witness to darkness and truth.

It was dark. Jonathon's change of view and opinion was dramatic, as well as tragic. He watched Shawn's dignity crumble to bits and it ate at him.

And it tortured him.

And it pulled him into the shadows and bound him there until everything he saw was painted grey.

Helplessness seems to rest in darkness.

Cory bent down beside the two, resting his arms on his knees as he crouched. His brow arched sympathetically, but there was no hiding the sorrow and guilt that presided over his features. "Shawn…" He repeated. This time his voice was higher pitched. "Please forgive me…" He hiccoughed. Then breaking into sobs, he stood, allowing Chris to lead him away.

Shawn didn't react to his friend's apology. He folded himself into Jonathon's lap, clinging to him as if he were his stand-in railing.

Jonathon wasn't oblivious to how he was the only thing that Shawn latched to. He was the only thing he could find solace in. He was his momentary comfort. And if he were a smarter man he would've used that to Shawn's benefit instead of using it to find the truth.

Maybe it was the closeness. Jonathon was never good at touching and holding and being gentle. Maybe he thought that he himself didn't need it. But at this point, he believed he had forgotten how much he did need it and how much he had forgotten: both about himself and his past, both reflecting his taking advantage of the hand he was dealt.

Combining his childhood and his adult life, the amount of gentle touch he'd received could most probably outweigh that of Shawn's short fifteen years by ten times.

He could see now what he didn't before. He could suspect where this was going now that Shawn had broken his shell and oozed out over everything. He finally was beginning to understand. And this was beyond the point of guessing, imagining, and interpreting. And with this, he would save him.

* * *

HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

I'M LEAVING FOR VACATION DOWN SOUTH IN 5.5 HOURS YET I'M UP PUBLISHING THIS... CRAZY DEDICATION IS WHAT THAT IS, MY FRIENDS :)

PLEASE REVIEW! AND SORRY IT'S SHORTER :(


	13. Chapter 13

THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS!

* * *

"Hey Nick!" Chris was several paces behind him, putting a bounce on each stride as he hurried after him. At last, catching his outreached hand on his shoulder, Chris pulled and turned his partner to finally face him.

Nicky's face held a crease by every muscle that could tense. A tint of green shaded his face, bringing Chris to acknowledge the nausea he was feeling.

It was mutual.

But Chris' unsettled stomach was in combination of something else that ran a little deeper. He felt like someone had pulled a carpet out from beneath him. Like he had just been stabbed in the back. Like he had been betrayed.

"Not tonight, okay? Please?" Nicky didn't try shaking his arm free from Chris' grasp. He was unmoving as he waited, though his gaze didn't meet the other man's and glowered instead somewhere around his middle.

"I don't even know what that means." Chris replied, releasing him roughly as if he had been fighting him.

Nicky rolled his head back and sighed. "It means I don't want to do this right now. Another day, alright?"

Chris was fuming, though unsure exactly why.

He could understand Nicky's secrecy. He empathized every day. It was part of his job. But, this time, he was having trouble subtracting himself from the equation. As his partner, his friend – his best friend at that – he was unable to believe that the person he had watched just a few hours ago on that roof was the same man.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

A small smirk spread over Nicky's tightened face. Like some kind of sickness, it washed over him and then Chris saw it. Though nothing changed about his appearance, this new piece of history became visible like a neon arrow had just appeared above him.

As Nicky shook his head and backed away, before turning and heading for his car, Chris realized that he would never understand. No matter how many cases he worked involving sex crimes, no matter how many pedophiles and rapists he looked in the eye and the victims he consoled, he would never truly understand what they'd done or what they'd been through.

No amount of empathy could get him there. No amount of help could bring them back. It was like a club. It was exclusive and it was an unreachable hell.

* * *

"Shawn, I'm not going to tell you again. If you don't eat your meals, we'll have to put tubes up your nose to give you your nutrition that way. It's up to you, kiddo." The nurse told him, pushing his tray of untouched meatloaf and potatoes toward him.

"Come on, buddy. At least eat the Jell-O. You like Jell-O." Jonathon tried, sitting forward in his chair.

Shawn was having none of it. He pushed further back in his bed the more the nurse fussed, his glare having potential to leave third degree burns on her skin.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Turner, but I don't see any other way." She said with a sigh and left the room disheartened – a crying shame, considering her usual chipper mood.

Jonathon, even less hopeful, picked up his tray and placed it on a table beside him. "You know she'll be back, Shawn. And you'll be in trouble." He tried to joke, but his own knowledge of the situation – her assignment to his 24 hour suicide watch and his refusal to eat – made it hard to grin and bear.

"I don't care! This food tastes terrible and I'm not eating it!" Shawn hissed, pushing the bedside cart away, as well.

"Hey, when Topanga got her tonsils out, you asked me if hospital food could be delivered." Jonathon remembered spraying out his soda from his nose as he laughed at the unexpected request. At the time it was hilarious, but now after the history he'd discovered, it was a reflection of Shawn's sad life and his inability to fix it.

He rolled his eyes. "I just want everyone to leave me alone!"

"Well, everyone's worried about you." Jonathon placed his hand on Shawn's shoulder, which was, to no surprise, shrugged away.

He slumped down until only his head was upright against the pillows, his chin touching his chest. He closed his eyes, though obviously restless and worn out, the fluttering of his eyelids confirmed that he had taken to avoidance.

"You had me really scared, buddy. I almost…" He shook his head, releasing a breath in disbelief. "lost you."

Shawn lay motionless beside him and for the first time in months, he stayed that way through the entire night.

* * *

He could hear sirens in the distance. If he listened close enough he could hear the sound of rushing cars whizzing by on the street below. He listened harder to broaden his surroundings, because otherwise his reality was the endless chorus of beeping sounding from the heart monitor above his bed and the scratching of the nurse's pen against her newspaper crossword puzzle.

He hadn't opened his eyes since before Jonathon left.

Recalling his earlier behaviour, he regretted how he covertly pretended to be sleeping after quickly examining the room for Jonathon's presence. When he spotted him, he was rubbing his eyes, his leather jacket draped over his shoulder. He swiftly kissed him on the forehead, before shuffling on out.

And Shawn never got to say goodbye.

_Way to go, idiot. _He reprimanded himself, now left alone with a woman who insisted on being part of the furniture. However, unlike the furniture she also insisted on following him around everywhere he went. This was the main reason why he had been laying there so uncomfortably the past few hours.

He opened his eyes, not quite surprised that it was dark. Dark outside, anyway, for the incessant bustle in the hallways was only shielded by a thin curtain across the wall wide window.

_Although, as a plus, the nurse has no problem seeing her crossword puzzle. _Shawn thought wryly, fighting against the now spinning room as he pulled himself upright.

He groaned.

"Are you alright?" Came her soft voice from somewhere nearby.

Shawn ignored her, hoping that she would assume that the noise was in his sleep.

"Shawn? How are you feeling?"

_Damn it. _He slowly swung his feet over the side of the bed and as his legs dangled there, he could feel himself losing consciousness. His ribs were aching and his head felt like feather weight as he tried so hard to perform the simplest of tasks. "Peachy." He croaked. What pained him, also, was his needing to reply...needing her help.

"Are you okay?" She asked him again, clearly not relenting.

He took a deep breath in and pretended his ankle didn't twinge as he lowered himself to the floor. "I need to use the little boy's room." He told her, hearing his father's voice echo it in his ear. _Yeah, that's something he'd say. _

With a soft flicking noise, a light turned on and she floated across the room, toward him. "Okay, let me help you."

He didn't like that. "I'm fine." He protested, taking a painful step forward, forgetting his intravenous pole behind him. A stinging pain surged through the inner part of his elbow, which quickly turned into a heavy throbbing. He bounced back with a yelp, relieving the slack on the fluid tube.

"Careful!" She exclaimed, cringing as if she had felt the pain, too. "Come on. It's okay." She pushed the pole forward a few feet and wrapped her arm around Shawn's waist. "Alright, now. Take it easy. There you come."

She helped him walk, while Shawn regretted his choice to not jump the previous day.

* * *

"Excuse me, Jonathon Turner?"

Jonathon looked up from his magazine, a sight for sore eyes appearing before him. "Miss Barclay, hi." He smiled at the slender, young lawyer.

"Hi, Mr. Turner. I'm so sorry to bother you here." She looked sympathetic as she glanced around the hospital lobby.

"Oh, please, call me Jon." He felt the corners of his lips twitch. _What are you doing? She's Shawn's lawyer. _

She smiled, nodded, and continued, barely interested in his misguided charm. "I've been trying to reach you. Did you know your voicemail is full?"

"No, I didn't." He lied, though vaguely remembering that the majority of those messages were from tenth grade girls from months ago that Shawn carelessly left saved. "I'm sorry. I've been pretty busy lately."

"Of course, I know. It's just that we have a lot to talk about regarding Shawn's case…or should I say _cases._"

When Jonathon frowned, she elaborated.

"I trust you heard about Shawn recanting?"

Jonathon felt himself tense. "Uh, no. What are you talking about?" He almost smiled his disbelief.

She pressed her lips together and ran a stiff hand over her temple. She sat down in the chair next to him, crossed a leg over the other, and told him.

It barely phased Jonathon once he knew. There wasn't much more bad news that could send him into shock mode, like he'd been experiencing for what felt like a month. Now he was in constant distress to a point where he was actually expecting the worst.

"So what happens to Chet now? Is he actually going to get released? I mean, immediately after he said he was lying, he tried to kill himself! How can anyone take that seriously?"

She glanced around, avoiding contact with onlookers. "Shh… they won't." Her voice was lowered this time. "This will go to court though, so I really need to talk to Shawn! Not to mention, the entire other case with his brother –"

"_Don't_ call him that." Jonathon's tone wasn't so flirtatious anymore.

He saw her breathe in deeply. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything that's happened to Shawn. But I'm on your side. I want to get these guys locked away for good, and I can't do that if you keep shutting me out."

"Shutting you out?" Now, Jonathon was completely turned off. He sat up straight, no longer relaxing with his magazine, instead just as tense as he would have been at Shawn's bedside. "When a kid gets attacked and raped, and then tries to jump off a building, people don't need lawyers! They need a drink or God or…"

"Jon…" She stopped herself. "Can I still call you that? I'm sorry, again, okay? I can't imagine what you're going through. However, I'm working on closure. For you and for Shawn. So, please, when you're ready, give me a call." She got up, adjusting her beige pencil skirt while she picked up her briefcase off the floor. Giving Jonathon one last meaningful look she brushed her hand down his arm, reassuringly, and left.

A man on his way in held the door open for her, seeming to earn him a two minute conversation before she started in the direction of the parking lot.

Unless she knew him.

Not until he reclined in his seat once again, did Jonathon realize that he knew the man, too.

"Well, I heard yelling and knew that could only mean chaos and so naturally I came running." He said with a grin.

"Nicky," said Jonathon, strangely embarrassed at how he felt relieved. The truth of the matter was that Jonathon was so far out of his league that he had nothing left to offer but his physical presence. He didn't know what else to do for Shawn or himself. For once, he wasn't all in his head. He felt like he was entirely out of his head and only functioning on the outside. "I'm surprised you're back." He stated honestly, after witnessing his strong bravado breakdown to reveal vulnerability and weakness. He would have thought that Nicky wouldn't want to show his face around again, after what he admitted on the roof.

"I promised Shawn." He stated simply, as he headed toward the stairs. "You comin'?"

Jonathon got up, slowly, tossing the magazine on the seat behind him and followed.

When they reached Shawn's room, he was climbing back into bed with the help of his nurse. He didn't look happy and as they moved further away from the busy hallway, they could hear his complaints.

"I can piss on my own, okay? Tell her that!" Shawn cussed, laying eyes on Jonathon.

"Hey, watch your mouth, Shawn." He said sternly, though fighting back a smile.

The nurse, however, didn't bother hiding the smirk that spread across her small mouth. "Well," she said, changing the subject. "It looks like you've got some company, so I'll leave you alone."

Shawn, also not biting his tongue, blatantly expressed his relief. "Finally!"

"Shawn!" Jonathon scolded, while Nicky found it in him to laugh.

He sat on the end of his bed and studied his gaunt face, concernedly. "How was your night, huh? Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I feel like a million bucks. Can I go home, now?" He shot back. _He wants to go home. That's a good sign, right?_

Glancing around the room, from white wall to white wall, the area was drab and the mood was less than depressing. The only furniture in the room that didn't have lifesaving equipment attached to it was a wooden chair – the kind with the cushions stapled to it. Jonathon wouldn't have thought twice about it before, but now he was caused to wonder if that were so it couldn't be used to suffocate someone… or oneself. How Shawn was to recover in a place like this, whether from mental or physical injury, was far beyond Jonathon.

"Well, Nicky came to see you. You gonna say 'hi'?"

Shawn rolled his eyes, but stole a quick glance at Nicky as he did so.

Nicky moved in closer. "That's okay, buddy. Actually, I was just here to tell you something interesting. Some good news for a change. Oh, and I brought this." He pulled a comic book and a box of milk duds from the inside of his coat and placed them on the table beside him.

Shawn eyed them, for once without the sour expression. "Is that the good news?"

Nicky chuckled. "If you want it to be then that's good news. But then there's more." He reached into his coat once more and pulled out a long black cellular phone with a large antenna. With the pressing of a few buttons, he put it to his ear and said with a smile. "Bring him up, partner."

* * *

HOPE YOU LIKED IT! SORRY THIS ONE TOOK SO LONG, BUT I DIDN'T GET TO START IT UNTIL I GOT BACK FROM VACATION. I PROMISE I WON'T TAKE THIS LONG ON THEM AGAIN. MY PLAN IS TO HAVE A CHAPTER UP WEEKLY. I'LL DEFINITELY DO MY BEST :)

THANKS FOR READING GUYS AND PLEASE REVIEW!


	14. Chapter 14

THANKS FOR YOUR GREAT REVIEWS, GUYS!

I'M SO SORRY THIS ONE TOOK SO LONG! I KNOW I PROMISED BUT I'VE BEEN HAVING SO MUCH TROUBLE GETTING MYSELF TO SIT DOWN AND WRITE NOW THAT IT'S SUMMER :( BUT I PROMISE CHAPTER 15 WILL BE UPLOADED BY NEXT THURSDAY! -DEADLINES SHOULD HELP :)

HOPE YOU LIKE IT! FEEL FREE TO REVIEW!

* * *

"Bring him up, partner." Nicky directed, as he would during a follow up with dispatch.

Chris stifled a smile, as he rolled his eyes. "I'm not even there yet. Just five more minutes. Do you think you can wait that long?"

He hung up the cell phone and tossed it on top of the dashboard. He didn't feel that smiling was appropriate, because the nervousness of his passenger was radiating next to him. He could feel the tension as he leaned over and folded his hand over his stiff shoulder. "It's going to be fine." He assured him, though hoping that Nicky's blatant attempt to cheer up Shawn wouldn't hit the fan.

All he did was shrug in response. Turning his attention to the hospital which grew into further focal point as they pulled into the parking lot, he asked: "Do you think he'll like me?"

Shawn looked from Nicky to Jonathon with skepticism, unable to believe that this man knew what good news would be for him. Shawn, himself, was even unsure what good news would be. His mind seemed to be in a place that he didn't recognize.

His wanting to die was new and fresh, but this place was even more unfamiliar. He was stuck in a fog and couldn't find his way out, his way home to familiarity, or himself. He didn't know where he was. He was lost and no one, not even Jonathon, could save him.

Nicky stuffed his cellular phone into his back pocket, with a big grin on his face. "It'll just take a minute." He couldn't have sounded more cheerful.

"Did you know this was happening?" Shawn asked Jonathon, questioning the amount of approval 'Plan Cheer up Shawn' had been given.

Jonathon looked just as confused as Shawn felt, and shook his head as he opened his mouth to speak.

Nicky cut him off, eagerly, as he backed into the hallway watching both ways for Chris. "Don't say anything yet. Just wait! You'll like this. I promise." He couldn't keep the smile off his face and it made Shawn anxious with curiosity.

His mind was wandering to places that it shouldn't go. He was playing a guessing game that would only bring him to disappointment and pain. Someone had come to see him. A he had come to see him. Could it be Cory? Uncle Mike? Dad? He cringed at the possibility of the last one. Not just the possibility but the thought of his father after what he'd done. It reminded him that he messed things up for good.

After he had sent Cory away with the letter that he brought to Chet's attorney, Shawn balanced the phone cradle in his lap while he dialed the number of the prison. Finally hearing his father's voice questioning the prison guard on the other end who was calling, he placed the phone to his ear and spoke nonchalantly to his young son.

"Hello?" It flowed quickly through the phone and continued to ring in Shawn's ear.

"Dad," His own voice hoarse with emotion, he cleared it and continued off the prepared speech in front of him. "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have said those things to Jon and the police. I know you would never hurt me. I'm gonna tell them that I lied. I can't live with the guilt anymore…with what I did to you. You're not the problem, I am. I'm a liar and I'm putting a stop to all these lies right now. I'm so sorry! Will you forgive me?"

There was silence on the other end and Shawn wondered if he had hung up on him. Knowing that his father sat in a jail cell day after day thinking about how he got there sent shivers down Shawn's spine. It was his fault and no matter what anybody told him, nothing changed the fear that Shawn felt for Chet. If he ever got out he would kill him. If he ever got his hands on him he knew the pain to expect of his slow death, having been brought so close many beatings before.

But he also couldn't live with Chet despising him. It ate at him. It tortured him until there was no escaping him just the same as if he had him painfully pinned under his weight. Which was just another reason to take his life and end the hurt of himself and everyone that he caused to hurt.

"Shawn-y? What are you sayin', boy?" He finally asked after a moment's silence.

Shawn shook with relief, having been expecting his father to be angry. "I didn't mean to hurt you. They told me they could make me better and give me a better life. But I miss you and I was so wrong to go against you like I did. You did everything for me and I shouldn't have said those things. I _lied." _He felt sick as he said it. "Just please tell me you forgive me, Pop!"

"Boy…are you saying that I'll go free?"

"Yeah, Dad. I'm going to tell them I lied." He nodded, feeling his father's excitement as if it were radiating through the phone.

"Well, that's great! Finally! Boy, it's been hell in here." Chet was almost singing. "Now, as for yer lyin', well you didn't learn that from yer old man." His voice dropped in tone and though it was still disguised in a friendly conversational manner, Shawn could feel the hidden threat.

He answered quickly. "No, Sir. But please, please forgive me, Dad!"

"Now, now. I dunno about that, boy. Maybe after I see some _punishment._" The emphasis on his last word is what got him to the rooftop.

"Dad, I'm so sorry and I love you. I forgive _you_!" He added as he slammed down the phone into its cradle and broke into sobs.

Now that Shawn was still alive and his confession was still on the table, Chet was the worst threat that Shawn faced, even above Eddie's vengeful buddies.

But it wasn't Chet who Nicky gleefully led into his room. He was tall with his brown hair styled into spikes at the front, slightly messy like he had done it on purpose. His clothes were neat, dressed in a collared long sleeve, a pair of expensive looking slacks sitting smartly over a pair of black leather lace-ups.

It took Shawn a minute to place this familiar face to a name and point of relevance to him, but once he did, it was clear that this surprise was far from a good thing. "What are _you_ doing here?" He spat, shooting Nicky the best glare he could muster.

Jonathon, left in the dark, became even more confused at Shawn's reaction. "How do you two know each other?" He asked pointing his finger back and forth between them.

Shawn held his glare unblinkingly at his visitor. "He's my brother. Same dad different moms. His mom bailed on my dad years ago, found a guy with a few bucks. Guess they kept Jack pretty busy. We haven't heard from him." He said coldly, not caring about sounding ungrateful.

Jack Hunter stood awkwardly in the centre of the room. "That's not exactly how it happened." He looked around, assuring them.

"Whatever, Jack."

He stepped closer, releasing a shaky breath. "Look, Shawn. I think we need to talk, okay?"

"You turned your back on your father…and on me! So, there, we've talked." Shawn scoffed, dismissing him.

Jack shook his head. Just before bolting out the door, he tossed a stack of sports magazines on Shawn's bed, with a 'Get Better Soon' card attached to the front by a curly piece of blue ribbon tied around them.

* * *

"So you really didn't think this through, did you?" Jonathon guessed, watching the eighteen year old from across the hall.

Nicky ran a clenched hand through his blonde hair, anxiously. "Come on. Don't lecture me, alright? He's his brother. When I finally got a hold of him and he told me he wasn't really affiliated with Chet, I thought reuniting him with Shawn would be good for the both of them. I really didn't think about –"

"Asking me first? Asking Shawn about his feelings toward Jack before bringing him to his bedside? The possibility that there might be a reason that the two haven't spoken?" Jonathon listed, able to think of a dozen reasons why Nicky should have come to him with this bright idea before shoving it in Shawn's face. The number one reason circulated his thoughts like a wheel: _he's not your kid. _

He turned to the window, the curtain pulled so he couldn't actually see Shawn on the other side, but he stared at it as if he could. "Do you think they'll work it out?"

A soft, yet raspy voice intruded on their conversation. "Work it out? I think it's pretty clear that Shawn wants nothing to do with me. I feel like such a moron."

"Hey, don't…" Nicky shook his head, his face growing red. "This is my fault. Don't blame yourself."

"There's something you need to understand about Shawn. He's been through a lot, especially lately." Jonathon tried, not entirely sure he understood Shawn's resentment toward the boy.

"Is this why me and my mom have been getting all these question about Che… I mean, my dad? Did he hurt Shawn?" Without giving the men a chance to respond, Jack blinked a few times then fired off another question. "Is that why he's in the hospital?" There was a hint of fear in his voice.

Nicky looked to Jonathon, his action more sarcastic than admitting that it should be Jonathon's choice of response.

"Well, um…" Jonathon hesitated, watching Jack's intense eyes boring into him.

* * *

The sun was blinding that afternoon and Doug Hicks was happy to have scored himself a spot in the shade. It wasn't often that he would find the only shaded picnic table in the entire cemented courtyard available, but this seemed to be his lucky day.

Even with the grand weather streak bringing out the majority of the inmates on break hour, the others seemed to be on their feet and crowded together as they encircled the fenced in area. He noticed that they favoured the centre, perhaps avoiding the large prison guards that littered the perimeter with rifles in hand.

No one bothered Doug at the back end of the yard and he had no complaints about that. It was definitely his lucky day, he noted, since there was only one other inmate on his own at the centre of their encirclement.

Doug knew what that meant. He saw it every day. He heard it every night. There were some things that people couldn't escape from. No matter how bad a guy was, there was always someone badder. And in this place, he would feel his full wrath and finally be punished.

Since he knew he wasn't to be the target, he drew himself closer to the prowling, hoping to catch a glimpse of the victim. The other solo inmate sat crouched over in the sun. Doug bet that he wished he had found his spot in the shade. He had dark eyes from a distance, which only translated to bruises and red lips told of sucker punches even though they were swollen shut.

Doug had no remorse for the demise of this particular inmate. He was loud and arrogant and rude. He sang songs at night when he was trying to sleep. He stole others' food when he wanted more. He cornered the weak and formed a gang. But most importantly, Doug heard the rumour about him and deemed him fit for the worst punishment they could give him.

And then the cat calls began.

"Hey, Richmond! I hear ya like suckin' cock!"

"I hear ya like 'em small, Richmond!"

"I hear ya like little boys!"

There was a lot of yelling as the swarm of men dressed in orange closed in around Eddie Richmond in a tight ring. He heard yelps and screams, and a loud pop of a rifle that sent only Doug scampering back to his shaded corner. The volume only heightened as his eyes followed a stream of red escaping the crowd and flowing toward the sewer.

* * *

KEEP CHECKING BACK! I PROMISE THURSDAY, JULY 4TH THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP!

PLEASE REVIEW! :)


	15. Chapter 15

WELL, I DID IT! A LITTLE LATE (ACCORDING TO MY TIME ZONE) BUT, HEY, IT'S BETTER THAN NONE AT ALL RIGHT? I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT! I HAVE SO MUCH IN STORE FOR YOU! MUAHAHAHAHA!

* * *

Nicky paced back and forth. His fingernails scraped against the back of his sore neck, having repeated the action as many times as laps he had made from his desk to the doorway. He was shaking. One too many cups of coffee with triple sugars and he was on edge. It took everything in him not to punch a hole in the wall.

"It's gonna be fine, man." Chris said automatically as Nicky spun on his heels for another lap to the door.

"No, it's not. This is bad. He's gonna kill me." He crouched down and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands grading through his hair.

Getting up slowly, almost hesitantly, he then moved swiftly to close the door. "Come on, man. This isn't your dad."

"What's your point?" Nicky asked from the floor.

"He's not gonna punish you! Relax. I bet he doesn't even know about it."

Nicky jumped up, the launch sending him staggering backward, slightly lightheaded. "No, this is much worse. Why didn't you stop me? Why did you let me go? You know me! You know what I'm like! Dammit!" He kicked his desk chair and it collided into the wall with a crash. "If he finds out…if that son of a bitch opens his mouth…I'll be packing my bags for Jersey."

* * *

The sound of the doorbell was shrill in Jonathon's ears. It took a moment for him to realize what had startled him. It wasn't often that he had the crap scared out of him. No one ever rang the doorbell… except for one lately absent person.

"Eli?" Jonathon almost didn't recognize him. Not because he'd changed, but because he would've expected anyone else before a thought of his best friend came to mind.

"Jonny, don't you love me anymore?" His dark eyes wide with a bid of sadness, he switched to a grin.

Jonathon could do nothing but laugh. His old college roommate. His wingman. His best friend. How could he forget? His tortured mind could have used this companion.

Clasping hands with him, Eli pounded his fist against Jonathon's back in a half-hug, half-handshake. When he stepped back, Jonathon watched the smile on his face fade like water on burning pavement.

"I got tired of waiting for your phone call. The rumours going around were…I had to find out for myself." He stepped around Jonathon and slid into the apartment.

"Eli, I can explain." He said guiltily, closing the door carefully behind him.

Eli shook his head. "No, you don't need to. I understand, man. I do. I just want to help, alright?"

Jonathon crossed the room, darting for the beer in the fridge. When he returned he handed one to his friend and sat down.

"So, Philly's out, huh?"

"What?" Jonathon interpreted him as if he were speaking another language.

Eli raised an eyebrow. "Baseball, bro. Philly's out."

"Oh yeah. That's right." He agreed, though unable to remember the last game he watched. His life had become a sparking circuit.

The moment he wakes up he showers, dresses, then heads to the hospital. If he doesn't fall asleep at Shawn's side, he heads home and crawls right into bed all to begin his exhausting routine all over again. There is no time for hobbies, baseball, or even eating. From the moment his head leaves the pillow until it hits it again, he doesn't stop running. And even then his mind never slows to a jog.

"Look, Eli. I know you're here for some answers, so just stop beating around the bush." He wanted to beg. Small talk was breaking him. He, nor Shawn, bothered with it anymore. If not doctor speak or the TV filling the silence, then it was either screaming or complaining. Or screaming and complaining.

He shrugged. "I'm here to catch up with you, Jon. We're bros in good times and bad, sickness and health, til' death –"

"Right, I forgot we were married." Jonathon smirked. "Alright, I'm sorry. I just haven't been feeling much like being _bros_. Now I'm in daddy mode and I don't think I'm even doing that right."

"Yeah, is that why you replaced me with Alan Matthews?"

When he met his gaze Eli cracked a smile.

"I get it, okay? But I wanna help. I thought I'd just let you know I'm still here for you." He held up his beer and clanged it against Jonathon's which he held unopened inside his stiff fists.

He looked him over. Seeing his best friend reminded him of his life before Shawn. When it was just him and Eli against the world. Going to bars and clubs, picking up women, ordering takeout in his apartment, watching countless games on that very couch that they now seemed anomalous to.

Jonathon knew that he had changed. And without actually deciding it – without actually choosing or realizing the choice that he made – Jonathon was leaving behind his old life. Along with his old life came his old friends and the people who belonged with Jonathon the bachelor, not Jonathon the guardian.

He accepted it.

But the only thing he didn't anticipate was that those friends of Jonathon the bachelor would come to accept Jonathon the guardian.

Eli was one of them.

"I've missed you." He admitted, finally cracking open his beer. "It's nice to talk to someone who doesn't have any bad news for me."

"Well, actually…" He sucked in his cheeks in an attempt to hide his smile. "Don't be mad, but Catherine and I have taken a liking to one another… she also told me I'm better in bed." He chortled and jumped from the couch as Jonathon swung at him.

When he sat down again, he continued to smile even as he nervously peeled the label off of his bottle. He fidgeted often when he had something to say, when he was at war with himself over the decision to speak.

_Some news reporter. _

Jonathon sat back amusedly, taking a swig of his beer. "Eli…spit it out, bud."

"I know what happened." He didn't remove his eyes from his torn beer label. "Feeny kept me posted."

Jonathon shifted his gaze, suddenly less amused with his company and wishing it were possible to change the channel. This was Eli's entrance into Jonathon's new world. His crossing over the line, like the hospital room door. There was no return. And suddenly Jonathon and Eli weren't just college bros anymore. Eli wasn't just a struggling twenty something trying to find a good place for himself in the world anymore. Eli, like Jonathon, had graduated to adulthood – at least in Jonathon's epiphany – and there was no turning back.

It was becoming more real for Jonathon each day since the moment he had asked Shawn to stay with him. What a change one question made.

"I just don't understand how someone could do that to another person. And he's just a kid." Eli looked troubled, his face resembling his chagrin.

"It beats the hell out of me." Jonathon nodded his agreement._**A**__'freaking'__**men**__. _

Eli continued to frown. "His own dad and his half-brother."

"His own flesh and blood." Jonathon continued his thought.

He sighed, finally looking at Jonathon. "I guess sometimes water is thicker than blood."

This time Jonathon diverted his gaze. He spun the bottle in his hand, watching the liquid inside follow the twisting of his wrist. "This beer isn't strong enough." He said and they clanged their bottles together once again.

* * *

"I told you to leave and I meant it! I want you gone. I don't wanna see you again!" Shawn roared, his throat hurting from the intensity. His eyes darted toward the nurse who had hurried over to the machinery he was hooked up to. It beeped away incessantly like his pounding heartbeat and a rush of panic overcame him.

Jack stood motionless with his hands at his sides, a blank look hovering over his tanned face. "Shawn, please… I just wanna talk. I'm your brother!"

Shawn shook with rage as the heart monitor beeped louder and with fewer breaks in between.

"Honey, I think you should go." Shawn felt a little more at ease, until he heard her quietly inform him that "today's one of his bad days." He was more outraged than before.

As Jack turned away and reached the door, two large males in green scrubs charged through it and toward Shawn grabbing at his wrists, stopping him from ripping out the many tubes that littered his body.

It wasn't until he saw the needle that he realized that he had been fighting. "No! No, I'll be good!" He begged, resisting with all he had against the doctors and edging away from the long pointed threat. But against his best efforts, a large hand grasped his leg. The pin injected his thigh, as he fell away from his tantrum, leaving behind his rage and his dignity.

* * *

Please review, guys! I know there's lots of you out there reading. I want to hear from you! :)

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

**THANKS FOR READING! :)**


	16. Chapter 16

SORRY THIS TOOK A LONG TIME. I DIDN'T WANT TO JUST POST A SMALL 1,200 WORDS, SO I HAD TO WAIT A LITTLE. THIS CHAPTER TOOK A LOT OF PLANNING IN ORDER FOR ME TO SET UP THE FUTURE CHAPTERS, SO YOU MIGHT SAY IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT. HOPE SO!

ANYWAYS, ENJOY!

* * *

Jonathon rushed passed the receptionist without a second thought. She didn't do as much as look up and he didn't bother to check in.

_Serves her right, _he thought as he barged through Shawn's door, finding his nurse and a tall woman in a lab coat next to his bed.

"Shawn!" Jonathon was out of breath, having had no patience for the elevators he chose to run up 6 flights of stairs. Winded, he briefly scanned the boy who lay sleepily in the hospital bed, the feeling of panic settling a bit. "Are you okay, kiddo? Is he okay?" He turned to the doctor, impatiently.

"Yes, Shawn is fine. Take a deep breath." She told him with a reassuring smile. "I'm Doctor Zimmerman, by the way."

He took her advice, stepping back and wishing there were a chair there to fall into. "Okay," he breathed. "Just…when they called me they said it was an emergency. I thought…Oh God." He sighed and wiped the moisture from his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

"No. Nothing to worry about. Shawn is safe and healthy. He just had a little…episode and gave us a little scare."

She continued to smile, nonchalantly, as Jonathon felt his heart rate increase all over again.

"What do you mean 'scare'?"

She lowered her head to touch her chin, this time her smile grimmer as she spoke down to him. "He got a little upset at a visitor who came to see him and it turned to a little bit of an episode."

Jonathon was ripping apart each word that came out of her mouth, already anticipating that she would downplay the situation. _Little. _A _little _upset. A _little _bit of an episode.

"We had to sedate him."

"What?!" Jonathon felt just as out of breath as he had when he was leaping the stairs two at a time. "You sedated him because he got a _little _upset? Who's this visitor? Did you get the name at least? Do you understand why he's in here?"

"Mr. Turner, I'd appreciate it if you stayed calm. I didn't see the visitor, so I don't know…"

He was furious. "They could have been trying to hurt him! Did you think of that?" He roared, tilting his head to meet Shawn's dazed eyes who watched him as if only half aware of the goings-on.

The nurse spoke up finally, her silence appearing cowardly in response to Jonathon's fury. "Actually, Mr. Turner, I was there and it was Shawn's brother who came to see him. Shawn's reaction was abrupt and…" She paused as if searching for the correct word. "Irrational." That wasn't the right one.

"Irrational?"

"I think what Nancy, here, means is that Shawn's reaction was not normal."

Jonathon narrowed his eyes, accusingly, feeling close to exploding. "Not normal?!"

"He was screaming as if someone was hurting him! Pulling his hair, beating on the bedrail, and digging his nails into his wrists. He was trying to hurt himself. We stopped him."

Jonathon was taken aback. He crossed over, standing on shaky knees over Shawn. "Is this true, buddy?" He asked him softly, cupping his hand and pushing back Shawn's bangs which sat messily on his forehead.

He stretched his head back at Jonathon's touch and a misplaced smirk spread across his face. "I was a b-bad boy." He practically spluttered as he spoke, a string of drool falling from his mouth.

Jonathon pivoted on his heels to shoot a look at the doctor and she answered his unspoken question right on cue.

"He's still coming to." She explained. "And I've prescribed some antidepressants that for now he's receiving through intravenous.

Jonathon inhaled slowly. Fifty questions came rushing to the forefront, but his first thought was to scream. "What? What do you mean you're giving him drugs? Don't you need my permission? He's a minor."

"They're to help him relax." Doctor Zimmerman said automatically. "I think he deserves that after what he went through."

Jonathon looked at her incredulously. "Then what do you have for me?" It's not that he didn't agree. Shawn deserved at least an hour of peace after a lifetime of constant fear. "I just wish you would have talked to me about it first. The medications, I mean. How long does he have to take them? I've heard some things…"

"Well, that depends on how Shawn's feeling. We'll keep an eye on him, but I never consider antidepressants as permanent." She brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes before she continued. "Shawn did try to kill himself. But unlike others in that scenario we understand why he was feeling that way, which could hopefully put us at an advantage. I want to have him seeing a psychologist every day. Getting him communicating would be the goal there."

_Communicating, yes. That would make Nicky happy, _he thought, realizing that the detective's daily call was running a little late. "Any idea when I can take him home?"

She smiled, this time with sympathy in her eyes. "We'll tell with time."

* * *

Nicky charged through the bathroom door as if he were about to hurl. It slammed against the wall behind it with an echoing bang that aggravated his already aching head. He darted for the sinks, needing to grip something heavily that he knew wouldn't break in his grasp.

He'd done this before. He'd spent a total of hours yanking with all of his strength at the ancient plumbing without success, telling himself that if he could rip it from the ground, then he was a burnout cop and it was time to walk out of this place and never come back. He was unsuccessful still, though the idea was much more of a reality.

He stopped pulling and as he exhaled sharply, he released a moan that came back to him from the walls like someone else were in the room. Whoever it was they were suffering and they were helpless. The poor soul sounded like he needed someone to put him out of his misery and Nicky confirmed this as he slowly lifted his head to meet his new victim. He saw him and cringed at the image of the pale, sharp cheek-boned, raccoon-eyed self that stared back at him with disgust.

It took everything he had not to punch the stained mirror that hung loosely on a rusted nail for as long as Nicky had been working there. He hated himself for what he'd done. He couldn't breathe in this body and that feeling made him want to destroy the asshole he saw in the mirror all the more.

He felt his knees buckling beneath him and he shifted his weight, trying to awaken the part of him that usually took care of the whole balancing thing.

Flicking on the cold water, he splashed his face with trembling hands. When he stood straighter and looked more hopefully at his reflection, he felt hopeless. It was too late to change the past. It was too late to take the job at his uncle's auto shop, it was too late to switch departments, and it was too late to change what he'd done. He was going to have to live with that forever.

At some point during his brooding, the restroom had gained a second occupant who stared at him, arms crossed, and a look of umbrage upon his face.

Nicky's head snapped toward him, catching the captain's sudden presence in his peripheral. "Sir!"

His superior continued to look him over, abhorrently. "Get yourself together and get your ASS in my office!" He barked as the echo shook Nicky through to his core.

* * *

"Jon?" He could hear Shawn's voice from down the hall. In seconds he was speeding off toward his room, leaving behind the parents of a very sick little boy.

When he opened the door, Shawn was leaning on his elbow, his other hand grasping the railing with white knuckles and a pained expression on his face. "It hurts."

Hurrying to his side, Jonathon hesitated, unsure of how to take away his pain. "What hurts, buddy?"

His eyes were glazed with moisture and he blinked hard when he answered. "Everything."

"I'll get the doctor." Jonathon had already turned around when Shawn began to protest.

"No! I'm fine! I feel better now."

He frowned, watching Shawn grimace even as he settled against his pillows. "What do you mean you're fine? Shawn, I don't want you to be in pain." He thought for a moment. "You know, the doctor's not going to hurt you."

"No, you don't understand!" He hissed, rolling his eyes.

"Well, then, what is it?"

He remained silent, stubbornly. He clearly wasn't better. He was clearly in severe pain. Broken ribs, cuts, and bruises still tortured him and his putting on a brave face was failing.

"Shawn," He raised his tone, warningly. "Tell me what's going on."

"I want to go home."

His heart broke. "I know. I want you to come home, too, but you can't until you're healthy again."

"Well, that'll never happen, now." He said, sullenly, his bottom lip quivering slightly.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because!"

Jonathon put his hand on Shawn's shoulder and squeezed it. "Because, why?"

"Because of what happened! They think I'm crazy! Are you mad at me?" He added, looking him over.

"No, Shawn! It's okay!" He sat on the edge of his bed and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Hey, look at me." He raised the boy's chin, whose face resembled a lack of confidence that Jonathon could feel just by looking into his eyes.

"I don't want them to come back. They hurt me. I just wanna go home!" He grabbed Jonathon's wrist with both hands, latching on tightly.

But Jonathon turned it off. He tuned out the desperation and the obvious pleading, unable to allow himself to see the wreck that the boy had become. Shawn was still strong and brave in Jonathon's eyes and he wasn't going to let this tragedy turn the Shawn that he'd come to know and love into a helpless victim. He was much more than that and keeping that vision fresh in his mind helped him to see the future that lay ahead. It was bright and shiny and that was all that kept him from staring downward, which was the same direction that Shawn was falling into.

He removed his arm from around his shoulders and tried to pry away his white fingers. "They were trying to help you, buddy. I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt you."

He pressed his fingertips into him even further. "Yes, they did! They put things inside me." Suddenly he gasped, as he put all of his weight on Jonathon's forearm and his eyes grew wide with excitement. "They're working for _him_!"

"Working for who?" But the moment the words left his mouth, he realized who he was referring to. "No, Shawn." He shook his head, both in disagreement and amazement. "These are doctors and nurses. It's there job to help you and make you feel better. They don't want to hurt you in any way. They stopped you from hurting yourself."

"They made me do it! They told me to!" He dug his nails into Jonathon's flesh and he yelped in response.

"Ow, Shawn, that hurts!"

He didn't miss the terrified look in Shawn's eyes.

"It's okay…Sweetie, just…" He forced Shawn's hand back and held both of his small ones in his own large ones. "You're not feeling much like yourself, are you?"

Shawn twitched. "It's never gonna go back to the way it was. If Jack didn't leave, he'd never have had to hurt me."

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW! :) AND THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWS I'VE ALREADY GOTTEN. LOVE YOU ALL XOXO MEG


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! You're all so amazing! I can't believe how many readers I have! I was on vacation so this one took longer, but I think I fired out the last 2000 words all in the last two days. I was really excited about this one and I hope you guys are too!

Please review if you get a chance!

**WARNING!: MENTIONING AND IMPLICATIONS OF RAPE, DESCRIPTIONS OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE, AND SWEARING! PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THAT OFFENDS YOU!** (But hey you've stuck it out this far ;) ...and this warning is totally a spoiler)

Other than that... !

* * *

It felt like hours that he had been sitting there. He glanced longingly at his watch, but it only confirmed what he already knew. In a matter of minutes, Nicky was nervous as hell.

It was humiliating. He was sitting in the lieutenant's office, encircled by glass walls and his coworkers, whose faces casted looks of wonder – as in wondering what idiot mistake Nicky Adams had made this time – and smugness as he awaited his fate.

Lieutenant Wheeler busted through the door and marched passed him to his desk. He wasted no time with small talk. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

_It's like he took a page out of dad's journal_, Nicky thought begrudgingly. "Sir, I can explain."

He hardly gave him a chance to finish before he started up again. "You said that the last time! I warned you, Adams! And you just made me look like a jackass."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nicky tried on his best poker face.

"The hell you don't!" He continued to holler. "What are you so shaken up for? You know what you did! You know that I know!"

"I don't know what you think you know, but I haven't done anything wrong, alright?" He firmly believed that. If anything happened to any of his perpetrators, whether by his hands or a stroke of luck, than they deserved it. No, what Nicky was shaken up about was what would happen to him. He loved his job. He needed to be a cop. He needed to work here. Until his dying breath Nicky had to be the one locking monsters safely behind bars. He didn't want to live in a world of uncertainty that so many others do. Just putting trust in men and women in uniform to protect them and not even questioning the system. He needed to know – to see for himself – that people like Chet Hunter and Eddie Richmond will never walk the earth freely again.

Wheeler couldn't know what Nicky did. He couldn't. Or at least that is what Nicky continued to tell himself. Even his partner agreed, though less enthusiastic about his misdeed. He saw it as turning from good cop to dirty cop. Nicky saw it as justice. Charma. The work of God.

"I saw the tape, Adams!"

"Wait. What?" Nicky was not expecting that. The security cameras were broken. He knew because he had it strategically planned out.

He sat down at his desk, his dark eyebrows – the only hair on his head – furrowed so low, they almost disappeared as they blended with his eyes. "Do you think I'm an idiot or are you one?"

Nicky clenched his fists beneath the table and swallowed hard. "I'm not playing stupid, Sir. Now I really don't know what you're talking about." He said honestly.

"You were interrogating Eddie Richmond. The cameras shut off _mysteriously _and never came back on. I want you to tell me what you did to him and keep in mind that I already know."

Nicky could barely remember his last face-to-face with Eddie. He only remembered wanting to kill him after a gruesome recitation of a six-year old Shawn's pleas as he beat him with a baseball bat and sodomized him.

"Wait. Was it in interrogation room two?"

Wheeler glared at him and nodded a resentful 'yes'.

"That camera's been on the outs for months. It's always blacking out on the audio or… or the picture or both."

"And how do I know that you didn't plan on using that room so you could kick his ass?"

Nicky considered it for a moment. "I guess you don't."

They sat for a moment in silence. Wheeler's eyes burning into him, while Nicky waiting for the first chance to escape.

"Fine, then." The Lieutenant said after a moment. "But you know you're on thin ice, Nicholas. The next time I ever suspect you of anything, you're gone. You got me?"

Nicky stood, sensing that the conversation was over. "You got yourself a deal." He tried not to smile.

Adjusting his collar and tightening his tie, Lieutenant Wheeler crossed the office and grasped the left open door by the knob, beckoning him through. "Now, get out of here."

And Nicky all but flew from his office, feeling quite accurately like he had just gotten away with murder.

* * *

Shawn rolled onto his side, a painful groan escaping from his lips. His eyelids were heavy and he blinked hard, strangely as the last time he opened his eyes it was nearly noon and now the only light that he could see was shining through from the hospital hallway. He surrendered to his exhaustion and his subconscious.

"_Hey, pretty boy!" Shawn heard the voice and stopped, grudgingly in his tracks._

_He spun around. Though telling himself to ignore him, he felt compelled to endure what he had coming. "Leave me alone, Eddie." He said, ironically._

_His half-brother approached him and from several trailers down, three scruffy looking guys stepped out, spotted them, and ran towards them, stopping just behind Eddie._

"_I've been waitin' for ya." He smiled big and stretched out his hand, running his fingers, tauntingly, along the collar of Shawn's shirt._

_Shawn flinched and hit his hand away, warranting a chorus of laughter from his unwanted company. _

_He wanted to leave. He wanted to take off running, but he knew they wouldn't leave him alone. There was never a more deserving time for the phrase 'you can run, but you can't hide' than when Eddie and his friends wanted to play._

"_Now is that any way to treat your big brother?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye._

_Shawn watched, sickly, as the looks swept from face to face of the older boys like a spell. At the words 'big brother', it was eagerness, arousal, and thirst that surfaced over their predator faces. They liked the natural dominance that Eddie had over Shawn. His age, strength, and height put Shawn at a sad disadvantage and that image is what fueled their sick need to assert that influence. _

_Eddie reached for him again, this time running his filthy fingers across Shawn's jaw and stopped at his chin, grasping it tightly._

_Shawn cringed at his touch, but didn't fight it. He was afraid of what would happen if he broke contact again._

"_You like when I touch you, don't ya? You're such a faggot." He released his chin and slapped his face, roughly, with the bottom part of his palm. "You filthy piece of shit! I oughta beat your fuckin' ass for that! You're lucky I even let you live, you stupid cocksucker." _

_Shawn grabbed his jaw as it throbbed, stepping several steps back. "Leave me alone!" His voice shook, as his heart pounded violently in his chest._

"_Shut your fuckin' mouth!" The guy to Eddie's left, known as Gabe, shouted._

_Eddie spat, no longer grinning smugly. "Get your gross ass over here!" He pointed at the ground before him._

_His mind was racing, but his body pulled him further away._

_He could still see Eddie's eyes, full of rage, while the rest of his face resembled amusement. "Shawn, I'm gunna beat you so bad you won't be able to breathe. Now, come here!"_

"_You're only makin' it worst for yourself!" Denis, the tallest, said in a singsong voice._

"_No! Stay away from me!" Shawn yelled over his shoulder, taking off through the field of waist high grass behind the trailers. _

"_Get him!" He heard Eddie order, followed by the heavy pounding of their footsteps, running after him._

_He felt lightheaded as he sprinted through the long field. He hadn't eaten yet that day or the day before that, just noticing the hunger pains in his abdomen, as his pace slowed. "Fuck off!" He yelled, catching one of them in his peripheral._

_But he was too weak. He wouldn't have stood a chance even if he had any energy to run. _

_Grabbing a handful of his hair, it was Carl who yanked his head back, pulling his feet out from under him. He fell painfully on his back and he howled, struggling for a breath._

_They pulled him to his feet, two holding each arm and the third taking shots at him from behind._

_He cried in pain and as they dragged him, mercilessly to his fate, he begged. "No! No! Please, don't! I'll do anything! Just please, let me go!"_

_They laughed at his desperation and pushed him, forcefully, to the ground along the way._

_Covered in new bruises, he stood in front of Eddie, who likely hadn't moved an inch. _

_Denis and Gabe held him firmly. _

"_You little shit." Eddie grinned and punched him in the gut. Shawn's knees were buckling but they held him in place, preventing him from doubling over._

"_You think you can get away from me?" He punched him again, this time in the face. _

_Shawn cried out, but he knew that no one would save him. _

_He hit him one more time in the face, then ordered his subjects to let him go. "You're mine!" He cracked his knuckles. "I do what I want with you!" He shoved him backwards and he fell down hard, thinking that he would've without his help. "And now I'm gunna break you!"_

_He pounced on top of him like an animal. Shawn saw the only real difference was his opposable thumbs. And those thumbs dug into his throat, just below his Adams apple. _

_He kicked his legs beneath Eddie's weight and he barely heard the jeering of the other three as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He swung at him with both fists, blindly connecting after his third attempt. _

_Eddie released him, wrapping his arms around his head on the ground next to him. His weight still paralyzed him so that Shawn's only chance was to hit him again._

_His fist flew through the air and froze in place like he had just hit an invisible wall. It wasn't until he heard the pop of his shoulder dislocating, that he realized that someone had caught his arm._

_He screamed in agony, which turned to whimpering as he watched Eddie regain composure. "You little prick! I'm gunna kill you!" He pulled himself back into place on top of Shawn and launched his fist into his throat. _

_Shawn choked and spluttered, a blackness clouding over his eyes and lasting longer than he was used to. It took several minutes for him to recover and in turn he missed that period of abuse. _

_A solid strike to the side of his head awakened him and his senses. He couldn't scream but he felt that a part of him was screaming somewhere. He could feel Eddie's hands finding his neck and he latched onto his wrists, hopelessly trying to escape him._

"_Let go of me, disgusting little shit!" He roared, pulling his arms back with Shawn still attached and launching forward, slamming Shawn back into the pavement._

_Shawn felt his teeth chomp together, likely breaking each one. A heavy ache crept through him from his back to his chest and he wailed yet again as Eddie freed one of his wrists from Shawn's grasp. _

_He pounded his injured shoulder until he let go of his other wrist, his entire arm feeling dead. He struggled with him more, while Shawn refused to let him near his throat again, fearing that he actually would kill him this time. He rolled to his side and Eddie rolled with him and for a mere second Shawn was in control. Before he could take a swing, however, Eddie was grabbing at Shawn's waist, gathering his shirt in his hand and riding it up his back. He pulled it down between his shoulder and his neck with his other hand and across his throat, restraining his arm in midair. _

_Shawn ducked his head down beneath Eddie's hold and his t-shirt tore down the back. Eddie ripped it off the rest of the way and dodging Shawn's swing, he rolled onto his knee. Easily propping up his other leg, he pulled Shawn's frail body over his lap. He eagerly wrapped his arm around his neck and squeezed, his bicep clawing into his throat. _

"_I told you…you're mine." He panted in his ear, as the other three began tearing off the rest of his clothes._

* * *

Jonathon wasn't surprised when he saw Nicky's drained face appear from around the corner. With Chris at his side, both men looked like a poor version of Law and Order. A type that no makeup could improve.

"Jonny!" Nicky tried to smile – or maybe he thought that he was – but it looked more like a wince than anything.

He clapped his arm and Jonathon smiled, picturing himself appearing much fresher compared to them. _At least I shaved this morning, _he remembered, which was more than he could say for these two.

"So, how are things today?" Chris asked, his face lighting up almost hopefully.

Jonathon picked up his coffee from the café bar and eyed the clock on the wall. "No news yet." He sounded surprisingly optimistic. "Shawn's been asleep since yesterday. They went and put him on heavy antidepressants and all they do is knock him out."

"Are you serious?" Nicky cradled his elbow in his hand and ran his fingers along his forehead. He shook his head and his wrist flicked back. It was moments like these that Jonathon could really see the Italian in him. "Do they know that he's a victim in two cases that are by the way _not closed?! _Who's the idiot? You know, seriously, I'll talk to the doctor if you want, Jon."

Jonathon narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I was thinking more along the lines of his health."

Nicky held his hands up. "Well, that too!"

When earlier he may have taken offence to Nicky's blatant motives, now he simply laughed. He knew he was good natured and how much he cared for Shawn. He trusted him and quite frankly, he needed him. "Well, I better get back to Shawn. If he ever wakes up, I want to make sure they don't give him anything else." Jonathon told them, hoping that they follow.

They did and without hesitation. Jonathon knew that they were really here hoping that Shawn might drop some names. They were still searching for the other guys that attacked him behind his building and so far their only chance at finding them was Shawn.

Chris stepped up beside Jonathon. "So, how's Shawn been? I mean since the other day." He was referring to Shawn's outburst at Jack, which Jonathon had informed Nicky of when he showed up later that day.

Jonathon took a long drink of his coffee. "Heavily medicated." He replied dryly. "I haven't even been able to talk to him since it happened."

"Jon, you guys _are _going to move passed this. It's just an uphill battle."

Jonathon rolled his eyes. "I really hate clichés." He then smirked. "I'm an English teacher."

"Right." Nicky smiled, as they came up to Shawn's room.

Jonathon opened the door with no intentions of actually entering the room. There was still the soft sound of Shawn's rhythmic breathing. He was still deeply asleep and wouldn't notice if he escaped outside for the time being.

"So, you should probably know something that I think you're going to like." Nicky said suddenly, looking as if he was trying to stifle a smile.

"And what's that?" Jonathon might as well have been mouthing the words, because his voice was drowned out entirely by a loud scream. He looked around, for a moment, foolishly expecting it to have come from another patient. It didn't seem to affect anyone else, except for Nicky who followed Chris bolting into Shawn's room.

* * *

Hope you liked it! Let me know! Stay tuned for more! :)

Love, Meg xoxo


	18. Chapter 18

YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE! HERE I THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T LIKE CHAPTER 17. I WAS WORRIED :S DON'T WORRY I DON'T FIND IT ANNOYING IF YOU ASK ME TO POST FASTER. I TAKE IT AS A COMPLIMENT :) THOUGH I APPRECIATE WHOEVER RATHER BLUNTLY STATED THAT I HAVE A LIFE. I DON'T KNOW IF I SHOULD TAKE CREDIT FOR THAT HOWEVER, BECAUSE 18 CHAPTERS INTO A SEQUEL STORY DOESN'T EXACTLY SCREAM "i have a life" PER SAY ;)

THANKS FOR BEING LOYAL! HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE!

* * *

It wasn't a new scene. It wasn't even much of a surprise. For the three men that hurried frantically into Shawn's hospital room, it wasn't their first time. Though, despite the familiarity of the situation, each of them wore similar fear stricken faces and, although Jonathon could only account for his own racing heart, he knew that the phenomenon was mutual.

Shawn moved ferociously in the dark room, tossing and turning beneath the sheets. He was helpless to his own subconscious and so was Jonathon. He couldn't save him from his dreams, his memories, or his past. And as long as that was true, the assaults and the brutality would continue eating away at the Shawn that he used to know.

"Do something!" Nicky yelled, his hands caught in midair as if searching for something to grasp.

Jonathon scanned the room, finding for the first time in a week that his nurse was not present. He placed his hands on both of Shawn's shoulders and shook him sharply, hoping to skip the usual episode that had to occur before Shawn could awaken. "Shawn! Shawn, c'mon wake up!"

"Wait!" Chris was suddenly full of excitement.

Jonathon turned around and found the other men exchanging a look that seemed to tick him off more than make him curious. "What?" He asked rolling his eyes impatiently and turning back to a now weeping Shawn.

"Let go of him." Nicky said, not breaking eye contact with Chris. He stepped closer.

"NO! Please, don't! Please!" Shawn moaned, so hysterical that he gasped for air between words.

"Why? I'm not hurting him!" Jonathon yelled continuing to shake him.

Nicky grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn toward him.

Jonathon stole his arm back, angrily. "Let go of me! What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Jon, just think for a minute! What's he dreaming about? What's he shouting about? This is it! Let's see what he says, what he gives away!"

Jonathon could feel the blood boiling in his veins. "This _is _it! He's reliving it, right now! He's feeling every blow, _right _now! We need to wake him."

"Have you ever even let him finish the nightmare? Maybe they would stop if you did, if he got through it!"

"No, they wouldn't!" Jonathon tore away from him and cupped Shawn's face in his hands. "Shawn, buddy, wake up! It's just a dream. You're okay."

Nicky was relentless. He locked Jonathon's arms in a hold behind his back and spun, whipping him around to across the room.

"What are you doing?!"

"He needs this, Jon." Nicky warned, catching him and pushing him backward again as he darted toward him. "He's always gunna be in danger if he doesn't tell us their names!"

Chris held Jonathon's arm as he tried for a second time to swing at Nicky. "And you're kidding yourself if you actually believe that he will."

Jonathon gritted his teeth. "Because he doesn't trust you! And who would?" He said stepping back, noticing his shoulder sticking out of the collar of his t-shirt. He shrugged it back into place. "You're on my side one minute and fighting me the next. Get out of my fucking way!" He finally yelled, frustratingly, as he failed again at pushing passed him.

"Just listen!" Nicky yelled and wrapped his arms tightly around Jonathon, pinning his own arms to his sides.

"This isn't your choice to –"

"NO-o! Ow, please! Help me!"

Jonathon's eyes were burning of something that could have been tears, but felt more like fire. "He wants me to help him. Let go!"

"You weren't there, Jon." Chris said, watching Nicky struggling to hold him in place. "You didn't know. You can't fix this."

He finally broke from Nicky's hold but continued to stay back, heeding his final: "Just listen."

"No, Eddie! Please, I'll do whatever you want! No! NO!

* * *

_He heard the door click and knew that he was now locked inside. There was no way out and no one to save him. But it wasn't like that would happen otherwise. He was stripped stark naked in the middle of the Pink Flamingo Trailer Park's main road and there wasn't a chance that there wasn't at least one witness. There always was. And they never did a damn thing about it. He was to face his aggressors alone and when they were done with him, he would be left to pull himself together enough to break himself free and pray they didn't come back before he did._

_ "Please! I'll do anything, just… leave me alone!" His voice didn't even sound like his own. The context of the situation became the only reason he knew it was his. He cringed at his echoing pleading, as he crawled backward, deeper into the dark shower room. _

_ He heard snickering and it seemed to raise goose bumps on top of the ones already protruding from his skin. Then, followed by a sharp squeal of a chair against the floor, Eddie yawned obnoxiously and said: "I'm tired. Boys, you can get him warmed up this time."_

_ Shawn couldn't see them, but he could hear them coming closer. He could feel their slow, but steady, footsteps through his hands on the floor and then, suddenly he was begging again._

_ "Please, just let me go! I'll get you money! Girls! Anything! Please! C'mon…"_

_ He could hear Gabe's heavy breathing. Carl's whistling exhale followed. _

_ "Guys, please! You don't wanna do this. I…I know you're not into it."_

_ "Shut up!" Their eyes must have adjusted to the light better than his own had, as a sharp kick to the face had Shawn's nose pressed against the mucky tile._

_ He cried out and as it came back to him from the walls he didn't think he was going to make it through. "Denis? You didn't even wanna last time… you… you don't have to! Gabe? No!"_

* * *

"This is ridiculous! Someone's gonna hear and think we're hurting him!" Jonathon looked from man to man, struggling to listen to Shawn's cries over his conscience.

But each man shushed him in unison.

_Why am I letting them tell me what to do? Shawn's my responsibility, not there's. _Jonathon thought, seething, and wondering if it were called irony when his morals clashed with those of public servants.

He started forward and, like a sensored gadget, Nicky's foot stuck out and Jonathon went stumbling forward. He propelled his hands to his front, preparing to catch himself from a fall that never came.

Nicky silenced him with a smarting grip around his middle and when he was released, at last, his own, though rhetorical, question had been answered.

* * *

"I heard he was in a fight."

"Well, I heard he was jumped from behind on his way home."

Gossip wasn't a rare occurrence in the halls or classrooms of John Adams High, or any high school for that matter. One may as well consider it the norm. However, it didn't make it right or justified and with that in mind, George Feeny found it particularly distasteful overhearing the same disreputable hearsay in the teacher's lounge over his morning tea.

"Really? I mean, you really think _that _kid was heading home?" He watched the tenth grade math teacher lean in closer to the small French teacher, amusedly. "Considering his home life, I wouldn't be surprised if he was running away." He then raised an eyebrow at the attractive woman, as if bashing a battered young man were a new pickup line. "You didn't hear? Oh, that Turner guy from the English Department adopted him. Drives him around town on his Harley Davidson like they're in a gang."

He seemed to get the reaction he was looking for, as he smiled gaily to himself and readjusted his corny designed tie. She encouraged him. "Wasn't Turner hooking up with that… Oh, what's her name?"

"Mr. Doherty, Miss. LaFleure, I don't remember why we thought it would be a good idea to put up all those posters about anti bullying, when we were only going to promote the opposite by example." Mr. Feeny got to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor with a squeal. "Especially when Mrs. Figgenbothom just loves hearing stories about someone being so distracted that they've stuck their elbow in their own soup spill or someone's skirt being six inches shorter than the school board allows!" He added daringly, as he slammed the door and hurried down the hall, for once, feeling satisfied.

"Hoh! Mr. Feeny!"

Just short of pretending he hadn't heard the absurdly loud summoning, he stopped in his tracks and waited, despite his impatience.

A much livelier looking Mr. Williams appeared before him in seconds, almost instantly lifting his spirits.

"Why, hello." He said, standing straighter and smoothing out his vest with his palm.

"Nice to see a friendly face." Eli smiled, briefly scanning the hallway as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you having as awful a morning as I am?"

Mr. Feeny supposed that Eli's friendship with Jonathon would put him in the same awkward position as Mr. Feeny was in. He was involved, but not closely enough related to avoid the hissing voices altogether. "You might say I've had better mornings." He agreed, offering a grim smile that not even Eli fell for.

"Well, I'm glad I ran into you. I was hoping to ditch the rest of the day." He paused. "With your permission, of course."

"You know, Mr. Williams. I think I'm right there with you."

* * *

Vivian DeLuca coughed loudly. It wasn't because she had a cold and there wasn't a tickle in her throat. She rather frivolously chose to cough out of amusement and bit her tongue to avoid laughing at herself.

Nobody seemed to notice her childish game. Not even her uncle Vinnie, who sat just inches from her at his desk, his nose deeply submerged into a file. After a few moments, he closed the file and handed it to her, his eyes already scanning a new document.

She took it from him with an eye roll and trudged across the ugly maroon carpet into the filing room. On her return trip, she couldn't help but gape at the gold plated sign on the door, with the name Dr. Vincent DeLuca engraved into it. It was just like her snobby, rich family. Only the finest gift for the youngest son of Mario DeLuca, who was the hospital's primary leg to stand on financially. This information deprives one of reasoning for Vivian's lack of attention, but explains why she is forced to volunteer twice a week in the Deluca Wing: publicity.

In fact, in Vivian's opinion, it also isn't much of a coincidence that Uncle Vinnie was elected coroner at St. Joseph's hospital for the Philadelphia Police Department. She was certain that she wasn't alone in her hypothesis.

"Viv, sweetheart." Her uncle called for her, snapping her attention away from his mounted university degree.

She tore herself away and from a haunting vision of her grandfather paying Harvard University to get Vinnie an interview. "Yes?" She smiled, sweetly, despite her cynicism.

"Can ya bring me the new case files in the tray there? Yup. That one right there." He winked at her as she slid it across the long oak desk. "Thanks, bella. Ya wanna come examine the body with me?"

She nodded, recalling this part as the only interesting thing about the job.

The room was cold, almost as if he'd decided the freezer box was inadequate and decided to chill the whole room. It was bright and spots appeared before her eyes as they adjusted to the fluorescent lights above. Everything was shining, sterile, stainless steel, like something right out of a movie.

Uncle Vinnie lifted the lever, releasing the lock on the freezer door, which he would tell her was to ensure that the bodies couldn't get out. He opened the door and her earlier theory about freezing the room was scrapped – or rather sublimated – as she watched the cloud of gas escape through the opened door.

He slid out the gurney and a body covered in a white sheet appeared. He removed the sheet, revealing a pale blue body, layered in cuts and larger wounds.

"Was he stabbed?" Vivian gasped, quickly gathering the body's gender by his nakedness.

Uncle Vinnie nodded. "And beaten, raped, and mutilated." He said, holding in his gloved hands what would have been two fists, except that they were missing all ten fingers.

Vivian cringed. "I hope whoever's responsible pays for their crimes." She gritted her teeth as she spoke, her eyes diverting away from the corpse.

A clipboard in hand, Uncle Vinnie jotted his notes while he spoke with her. "They will. It was a prison riot." He informed her, opening the corpse's eye with his thumb and index finger. "And if you ask me, I think this guy was paying for his own."

He finished with his notes and recovered the body with the white sheet. "Not much to do about a case like this." He pushed the gurney back into the freezer box and paused. Unclipping a card from the top of his clipboard, he looped a string through and placed it around the corpse's big toe.

Before he closed the door, Vivian caught a glimpse at the victim's name. _Edward Richmond. _And then, just like that, the door slammed shut and the lever fell. There was no getting out.

* * *

DON'T FORGET IF YOU WANT TO COMMENT YOU CAN ALSO TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK :) WHERE DO YOU SEE THIS GOING? ANY **REQUESTS?**? I'D BE OPEN TO YOUR IDEAS, SO DON'T HESITATE, YOU GUYS!

I'm going to start writing chapter 19 tomorrow afternoon, so get your reviews in !


	19. Chapter 19

This is just a short one this time, but don't worry the next one's soon to follow :)

I WAS THINKING ABOUT IT AND REALIZED THAT I HAVE NOW BEEN WRITING THIS STORY FOR A YEAR! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN THIS LONG, BECAUSE I'M STILL JUST AS EXCITED ABOUT IT AS I WAS WHEN I FIRST STARTED. THANKS FOR READING AND FOR WHOEVER'S BEEN READING SINCE THE BEGINNING...HAPPY BMW FANFIC ANNIVERSARY, YOU GUYS! ;)

ENJOY!

* * *

Nicky's shirt was unbuttoned almost halfway down. He didn't remember it coming undone, nor did he care enough about it to fix it.

Chris didn't seem to care, either, he speculated, watching his partner throw himself into the chair across from him, wrinkling probably the last pressed bit of his dress shirt.

"You didn't tell him." He said, breaking the silence of an hour.

"What?" Nicky asked, even though he had heard him, his mind belatedly processed the statement.

"Jonathon. You didn't tell Jonathon."

Nicky cleared his throat, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with his partner. "Thanks." He choked, struggling with the feeling of gratitude.

"For what?" Nicky caught his surprised expression out of the corner of his eye.

"For not telling Wheeler."

Chris sighed, almost resolutely, as if there was nothing more that needed to be said. But it wasn't that easy. Nicky knew that it wasn't that easy. He knew that actions had consequences, and his did as long as someone knew of his actions.

He opened his mouth to assure him but before he could, Chris had already gotten up and was out his office door seconds later.

* * *

"What's up, Doc? What's cookin'?" It was the fifth time Shawn had tried at the joke that day, and though it was still awkward and warranted by a new cocktail of antidepressant medications, Jonathon still forced a wholehearted chuckle.

The doctor was less than enthusiastic, but she smiled, more so at Jonathon's expense. "Just forgot my pen." She winked, picking it up from the desk between her two fingers. "I'll be back in a minute with your blood results."

"Do I still have any?" Shawn joked, drumming his fingers against the armrest of his wheelchair like a rimshot.

Jonathon's grin this time was genuine. "Man, I've gotta get you a joke book."

"I'll see what I can do." Dr. Zimmerman said and slipped out of the room.

Looking Shawn over, Jonathon was pleased with how quickly he was recovering. Weeks had gone by, weeks that felt like months. His life had turned into a breeding ground for pain, so much so that Jonathon was stunned when true emotions broke through his numbness.

What seemed to be the most shocking thing for Jonathon when he arrived in the mornings was Shawn's recent liveliness. He had finally started eating again, the nurses doing an efficient job at frightening him away from the possibility of a feeding tube. He was recovering. His ribs mending quickly and the bruises along his jaw and cheeks camouflaged along with his now yellow eyes. The stitches on his forehead were removed and the ones that sewed his lip back together had dissolved.

"I'm really glad you're in such a good mood." Jonathon commented, stretching his arm out and resting it on the back of his wheelchair.

He allowed the gesture as if he didn't even notice. "Yeah, I'm not as sullen and lugubrious."

Jonathon quirked an eyebrow. "Lugubrious?"

"Yeah, it's in Dr. Zimmerman's word of the day calendar." He said, nodding toward the flip book displayed on her desk.

He snorted. "Ah, I see. Gee you should be an English teacher."

Shawn smiled and when he did, it almost transformed him. It was as if a different, but familiar, person had taken his place. Like the Shawn deep inside had just been unleashed from the shackles that was his _lugubriousness_. And then his smile fell from his face and he looked upon Jonathon with a sadness that Jonathon would never forget. "You know this isn't real, right?"

Jonathon felt like he was dreaming. It was just a little bit of progress. He wasn't jumping to any conclusions or moving too quickly. He wasn't trying too hard. It just dangled in front of him like that. He didn't reach for it. All he was doing was admiring it. But, even still, it was being snatched away. "What are you talking about?" He asked, but he knew exactly what he meant.

Shawn smiled his true smile once again, but this time Jonathon knew it was tainted. "This is just the drugs talking. I'm not really better."

Jonathon exhaled, realizing he was holding his breath. "You don't know that for sure." He didn't want it to be so.

"Yeah, I do. And so do you, Jon. I can see it on your face." Shawn didn't look away or shy away from Jonathon's touch. He was honest and upfront. And most importantly, he was right. He wasn't better adjusted, he was better medicated, which made him able to confront his horrors. Something can't be horrifying if there is no fear.

"Come here, buddy." He pulled him in with his already outstretched arm and cradled Shawn's head with his free hand, as he rested it against his chest. "It will be. Soon." He kissed the top of his hair. "I promise."

"You don't have to promise me anything." His small voice was muffled by his shirt.

Jonathon leaned back in his chair, holding Shawn away from him. "What?" He realized that there wasn't much of a filter between Shawn's brain and his mouth. The words may as well be thoughts escaping from a dead bolted chest deep in his subconscious.

"I never really believed you, anyway." He croaked, but it wasn't from emotion. He could tell that he was tired and keeping his voice low staggered his naturally high pitch.

Jonathon still felt hurt at this, although he knew that it was true already. He didn't think that Shawn was truly comforted by his assurance, but that didn't stop him from making those promises. Perhaps it better comforted himself.

He sighed and tightened his arm around Shawn's shoulders. "You should be able to trust me. You should trust that I can protect you."

He lay his head back against Jonathon again. "That's hard to do when I can't even trust myself."

Jonathon opened his mouth to encourage him to expand on his statement, but he stopped himself. Jonathon wasn't on medication. His filter was still intact. And beside the fact, he knew what Shawn meant. He knew that he knew.

* * *

"So, I guess you're not here to lighten up my caseload." Elizabeth Barclay speculated before taking a bite of her sandwich.

Nicky cracked a smile. "No, I…just don't think you've been working hard enough."

She looked at him for a moment and then her eyes narrowed. "Eddie Richmond is dead. I don't council trials in the afterlife, Nick."

"Of course not. That would be silly." He said, rolling a pencil between his fingers.

"So, what is it? It can't possibly be about Chet. He's still waiting on his appeal date."

Nicky sat up straighter, the mention of Chet acting as a reminder of the work he had cut out for him. "No, not Chet."

"Is Shawn okay?" Her forehead creased with worry.

"Shawn's okay."

"Adams! What the hell is this about? You're wasting my time!"

Nicky put his hand on hers and she paused. "Richmond had a gang. There's a memorial service for him at the riverfront. Who do you think is going to go?"

She pressed her lips together, appearing amused. "You can't just arrest whoever shows up."

"I only want three." He squeezed her hand and then slid his own back. "I need you to get me warrants for Gabriel Tyrel, Carl Goodwin, and Denis Bodine for sexual assault of a minor and battery."

* * *

"Hey, Jon. Let go for a sec." Shawn's hands hovered over the wheels, anxious to feel them in his grasp.

Jonathon let go and he began pushing himself down the hallway, as the phrase _simple pleasures _came to mind.

Dr. Zimmerman stood beside Jonathon, watching Shawn with the same look of amazement. "He's a brave kid." She said, as a smile stretched across her face.

Despite everything he went through, Jonathon was still impressed by Shawn's strength. For the past fifteen years, Shawn had known nothing but pain and suffering, and never once did he complain. He kept his anguish a secret, perhaps because he knew no better, but the ability to just continue to take it day after day remained remarkable in Jonathon's eyes.

"He sure is." Jonathon agreed, turning to her and catching her eyes, filled with moisture, gleam in the overbearing lights.

"These medications seem to be helping him a lot better." She observed, meeting his gaze.

"Yes, they do." Jonathon nodded, ending his sentence in a higher tone, as if there were a "but" coming.

She looked at him quizzically. "Is there a problem?"

"He's not being himself. He knows that. He told me." He said, watching Shawn doing donuts at the end of the hallway.

"But coming from where he was, it's an improvement. He's not depressed anymore or trying to hurt himself. I don't think I need to remind you about his outbursts. He was so overwhelmed – "

"And now he's not anything at all. He's just not feeling anything."

She nodded slowly, crossing her arms across her chest. "I think that will change in a better environment."

Jonathon imagined that if he were a dog, his ears would have just perked. "As in home? I can take him home?"

"Yes." She smiled. "I want to keep seeing him and the psychiatrist, as well, but I think we can start doing that with Shawn as an outpatient."

"That's great! Thank you!" Jonathon was almost ready to run down the hallway after him.

"But I just want to warn you…he might need some time to adjust."

* * *

Please review! Please :) ...if Shawn were here he'd want you to ;)


End file.
